Chasing The Light
by Doverstar
Summary: For those who wanted to see Savitar redeemed and prefer Snow to Frost. Team Flash discovers a way to save their enemy and offer him a new home in an Earth with no Barry Allen. When Caitlin, volunteering to help, gets trapped on this Earth with the man who is and isn't Barry, how will she get home? And in the end, will she want to? SaviSnow, substitute Snowbarry. Canon-divergent.
1. Chapter 1: Watch Your Tone

**(Author's Note: THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW BEFORE READING! This fanfic is _mostly_ canon-compliant, but there are some key ways it is canon-divergent, and you need to know which ways before you continue, otherwise this'll just get confusing, Jell-O Squares.**

 **1\. MOST IMPORTANTLY: Caitlin never got hurt when Kadabra broke free in 3x18, thus she never became Killer Frost.**

 **2\. Savitar _did_ decide to let Team Flash help him. He wasn't faking it.**

 **3\. Everything else is the same. Savitar still killed H.R., still kidnapped Cisco to try and make him turn the bazooka in his favor, the only differences are that Cait is still Cait and Savitar accepted the team's help.**

 **4\. Julian will be mentioned in this story, but will not show up. Sorry, Julian fans! Love you!**

 **Okay, enjoy! -Doverstar)**

* * *

It was the morning after H.R.'s funeral. The sun was obnoxiously bright outside, its light glinting off of S.T.A.R. Labs' glass double doors. Most people would feel that after the death of a friend, the universe would be a little courteous and at least go overcast, but the team still using the site of the renowned particle accelerator welcomed the nice day. The late drumstick carrier probably would've thought a good old thunderstorm would be perfect for his heroic demise—and not surprisingly, the makeshift family he left behind disagreed, as they often had when he was with them. A clear sky and a cool breeze felt more like H.R. to them than a gloomy drizzle. Optimistic, eager to please.

Caitlin Snow had been up working all night. She couldn't sleep, so of course she went and made herself useful. The events of the last day and a half kept her from even dozing; her hands were still unsteady as she tidied up her station before the others arrived. It wasn't her first death on the team, that wasn't it. The loss of this latest Wells was a dull throb deep inside, pushed to the pits of her mind in an effort to remain composed. It wasn't almost losing Iris, either. She and everyone else had been gearing up to say goodbye for months, just in case something went wrong. They hadn't expected to be saying it to H.R., though.

No, she'd stayed awake on pure adrenaline. Grief and trauma weren't enough to energize her anymore; they were old friends. The adrenaline came from knowing she wasn't alone in the building all night. She had to keep her guard up.

For the past four days, the man responsible for every inch of Team Flash's struggles recently had been bunking in their very own headquarters. Their safe haven, their home away from various homes, was no longer safe. At least, that was the way Caitlin saw it.

Savitar was asleep downstairs.

Poor Tracy had wanted to chuck the wicked speedster back into the Speed Force the moment Barry Allen had brought him to them, and no one could blame her. Joe had seconded this, but would settle for slinging him in the pipeline. Barry had nixed both ideas, insisting Savitar be given the guest room in the basement of the Labs.

Caitlin, along with the others, had been completely floored to think that Barry would be so risky with the villain who had, hours before, been hellbent on killing his fiancee. How could they just toss him a pillow and call it a night? And _Barry_ of all people, defending him?

But if anyone knew what was going on in Savitar's head, it was only logical it should be Barry. After all, it was _his_ head. Sort of. Caitlin's science-loving mind had flocked to the semantics, but she could only analyze the time remnant's existence for so long before it was off to the pantry for an aspirin. Time loops were not nearly as easy as biology, and she was exhausted trying to understand it.

Impossible to be or not, Savitar was indeed _being_ , and he was _being_ only one floor below her, doing Lord knew what at that moment. She bit her lip, checking the security feed again. Sleeping. He was sleeping. _Think it out, Dr. Snow_ , Harrison Wells would've told her. _Dr._ Wells, the first one she'd met, mentor extraordinaire, before she knew him as the Reverse Flash. _What could he gain in confronting you? He's not exactly holding all the cards in this game anymore, is he?_ She could just see his patronizing smirk, hear the gentle chiding. Too bad he'd been a murderer. Sometimes she missed his calm observations, the hum of his wheelchair. He'd be right, too; Savitar was only there because he had lost any power he'd had over them. His plan had failed and he would be erased from existence—except, of course, that Team Flash had promised to save him. Now his life was in their hands. The irony.

Caitlin glanced at the monitor again, inhaling very slowly and running her tongue along the insides of her cheeks, a mental exercise in calming the nerves. Savitar still wasn't going anywhere. Though the image was fuzzy, she could see he was on his side, no blankets, he hadn't even changed clothes. For someone whose breathing spoke of sleep, his posture was practically crystalized. She wondered how anyone could sleep when they were that tense. Was he lying there wide awake, faking it? Staring into nothingness? She could think of few things creepier in the early morning hours with no sleep herself.

The sound of footsteps in the corridors behind her made her whip around. It couldn't be Barry, Wally, or Savitar; they wouldn't bore themselves with that average of a pace; they'd just explode on in, lightning everywhere. For a moment she checked for the smell of coffee. H.R. would be bringing her a treat from Jitters around this time, inhumanly chipper.

Then she remembered, and wondered if Tracy was waking up to the same memories at that moment.

Instead of Wells, Cisco entered the Cortex, carrying a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and balancing his phone on top of the box, eyes glued to its screen. He was reading Iris' article on the latest Flash adventure, with a tribute to H.R. toward the end. Dr. Snow had read it twice over just after midnight, when Iris had copied it to her blog.

"What are you doing here so early?" Caitlin demanded, clearing a space on the desk for the donuts.

"I could ask you the same thing." Cisco's voice was dull, his eyes weren't as bright as usual. It could've been the time, but Caitlin knew him well enough to know he wasn't sleepy—he was sad. As much as H.R. had pushed his buttons, Cisco would always feel empty without at least one Harrison Wells at his shoulder.

"Did you get me a cruller?" She wanted to cheer him Cisco wasn't happy, no one was happy.

Cisco flipped the lid up with two fingers, using the other hand to boot up the other computer. At least three crullers had been included in the dozen, and though Caitlin didn't feel much like eating, she gingerly picked one for his sake. Calories soothed the soul.

"I couldn't sleep," Caitlin explained, folding her donut in a napkin and dabbing at her lips. She took another look at her partner's expression, noticing the bags beneath his eyes. "I'm guessing you were having a little trouble with that yourself?" she added gently.

Cisco shook his head slightly. "Hard to sleep when you know Mr. Hyde's waiting for you at work," he muttered. He glanced at her. "Where is he?"

Caitlin turned the monitor so he could see it. "...Sleeping."

Cisco leaned in to study the image, then actually curled his lip, scoffing. "Yeah, right. I bet you my cruller he's been plotting all night."

"Cisco, what could he be plotting?" Caitlin tried not to sound too exasperated. They'd all been through so much in just three days. It wouldn't be fair to lose patience, but she was tired, and Cisco was just being petty. "It's not like he can do much of anything. Any minute he could be wiped from existence, remember?" She straightened in her chair. "Did you say _your_ cruller?"

He picked one up. "One for you, one for me."

"There are three of them."

"Yeah, and this one's mine."

"I don't eat the other kinds, Cisco."

"Oops." He stuffed half the treat into his mouth, cheeks bulging. He nodded to the screen showing Savitar's room, eyebrows puckering, grumbling around the donut, "Goob riffance."

"We promised we'd help him," Caitlin reminded him, but the tightening of her fingers against the bottom of her chair told him she agreed. _Good riddance_.

Savitar may have been willing to accept help, but that didn't mean he was sorry. Their friend was dead, and _that_ murder had been unintentional. What if it had been Iris after all? Barry never would have recovered. The Flash was made of gold—and though technically gold couldn't rust, if anything could cause him to, Caitlin knew it was losing Iris. Without her, it had been proven: he'd let himself become invaluable. And they couldn't have that. Not to mention what sweet Wally and her father Joe would've done. And then there was the icing on the cake. He'd trapped Wally in the Speed Force once, possessed Julian, deceived generations into worshipping him, and murdered hundreds. Tracy was right, he didn't deserve a future. But they had sworn to give him one.

"Did you come up with anything to solve his temporal problem?" Caitlin tossed her donut in the trash bin, wiping her hands. She _really_ wasn't hungry.

Cisco swallowed the last of his breakfast. "Oh yeah, I lost a _lot_ of sleep over that one." His eye-roll would've made Captain Cold jealous.

Caitlin gave him her sternest expression. "Well, _I_ did. What do you think I was doing here all night?"

"Biting your lip and staring into space?" Cisco offered.

She handed him her notes, all business. "I keep trying to think of a way to anchor him to this plain, to anything, but...no luck. I even browsed some of those science-fiction blogs you have bookmarked," she added sheepishly. "Nothing. No ideas on how to keep a loop like his from cancelling itself out. I mean, the only way he can stay is by doing what he was created to avenge—killing Iris." She threw her hands up quickly. "And we are _not_ condoning that. But without rectifying the hole we created in his timeline, it's going to suck him up." She gripped both knees, meeting Cisco's eyes. Neither of them liked to admit defeat. "I don't know how we're going to save him."

Cisco let out a puff of air that toyed with his shoulder-length hair. "We'll think of something. We got time before all that temporal zone energy comes to nab him."

"How can you be sure? He could—" Caitlin cast out for the right word, gesturing with a hand, "— _fade_ any minute."

The smallest of smiles graced Cisco's face. He was getting that clever look in his eye, and Caitlin was glad to see it beneath the mourning. "I can track it."

"You can _track_ it," Caitlin repeated, disbelief making her voice taut. "How?"

Cisco pulled up a diagram of the time stream he'd constructed on the nearest monitor. It was like looking at a hurricane, Caitlin mused, only more jagged and complicated. "I can feel it." He grinned, insufferably proud. "Yeah. It's part of my powers—not like I'm _vibing_ the rip, the Force ain't _that_ strong with me—but I can sense there's something wrong in the energy on our Earth. A corrupted timeline, a jacked-up loop...it leaves a trail. I don't know how else to explain it," he added apologetically, lifting a shoulder. "It's just there. So I did some calculations. We got at _least_ two days before he should start writing a will."

"But..." Caitlin looked at their ever-helpful glass demonstration board, then back at the diagram. She leaned forward, zooming in. "It's not that straightforward, I mean—we're dealing with a loop, something that doesn't make sense to begin with. Theoretically, _any_ thing could change, he could be gone in the next hour."

Cisco folded his arms. "Nah, see, that's the thing, _anything_ could change. Not killing Iris, coming here for help—everything unexpected he does slows it down. It's like it has to accommodate for the differences that keep taking place."

Caitlin stood up, tearing her eyes from the screen. "So all we have to do is keep making changes?"

"That'll only delay it by like a hair," Cisco had started typing, running tests, doing his thing. "It's too strong to be held back for much longer. Ready or not, Cait, he's got two days. That's it. So we've gotta work fast." He paused, crossing his eyes a little. "This is all still just, like, speculation though, I mean I could be totally wrong and he's gone right now. Bye Felicia."

They both looked sharply back at the security feed. Caitlin's eyes grew so wide, it hurt and she had to blink several times to keep the water at bay.

"He's not there." The bed was empty. Cisco gave her an equally alarmed glance. Caitlin swallowed. "Cisco—"

"Looking for somebody?"

Cisco let out a very masculine shriek and Caitlin spun around, jumping at least three feet into the air in high heels.

She was never ever going to get used to it.

Savitar was _not_ Barry Allen. Her Barry, their Barry. The forensic scientist with the child's smile and the hero who liked to play Operation. Savitar was a murderer and a liar.

But he had Barry's face.

He had one green eye, ridiculously familiar, lacking the softness Caitlin was so fond of. His grin was the same grin Barry wore when he caught them all by surprise, showing up in the Cortex in a blur of light and papers. Same hair, same voice—a little throatier, but otherwise—the same height, the same posture. He even favored the right side of the desk the way Barry did. Only a network of scars and a milky left eye told them who they were really seeing. And he was looking at them with so much intelligence, so much calculation. He _knew_ them, he knew their strengths and their weaknesses, he just stared and stared like he was reading a museum plaque. Caitlin hated that he watched them with their hero's eyes and that quirk of his mouth. As if he were deliberately playing the part, a substitute Barry for breakfast, ladies and gentlemen.

Cisco gritted his teeth at the duplicate. "Don't— _do—_ that!" he hissed.

Savitar gave him a perfectly baffled, mocking expression, reaching for the donuts. "What's the matter, Cisco? Trouble sleeping?" He himself sounded raspy, as if he really had just woken up, but there wasn't even a sign of bedhead. Caitlin started to think he really had been awake all along.

The waves of loathing she saw on her best friend's face were enough to boil the moon. Cisco was glaring at Savitar as if he were the devil incarnate. Savitar was blinking placidly back. The way his eyes remained half closed reminded Caitlin of the jeweled irises snakes were born with. Never impressed, always searching.

The tension was suffocating; Caitlin could see H.R.'s coffin reflected in the artificial light glinting off Savitar's jacket zipper. Cisco must have been imagining something similar. His shoulders had gone sharp and still.

But in true Cisco fashion, all he said was, dripping with ice, "No donuts for you." And he lifted the box off of the desk, walking to another room as if to hide the cookies on the top shelf from a naughty child.

Savitar glanced at the screen the two scientists had been commenting on. Cisco must have switched it back to the diagram as he'd stalked off; the footage of the speedster's room was gone.

There was a moment of silence as Caitlin watched Savitar and Savitar watched the monitor. Finally he said, exactly as if he were reading a very boring teleprompter, "How far have you gotten?"

Caitlin didn't trust herself to speak at first. She had barely spoken two words to this, the real Savitar, in the flesh—Barry's flesh—from the moment he'd revealed himself. She had avoided him from the start, not just because there was no light between them, the way there was between herself and the true Flash, but because talking to someone so familiar and distant was too much. Savitar was illogical, and Caitlin's sturdy mind sometimes refused to comply.

But he was asking for facts, in a friend's voice she had heard so often and listened to so intently, so her mouth began moving without asking her permission.

"We don't have a hard and fast _solution_ yet, but we...did some calculations, and Cisco's powers coincide with the energy in the time stream—which is one of the reasons he's able to contact the sort of Limbo that is the Speed Force—and he was able to find out..." She fumbled for a moment, wondering if there was a tactful way to say this, "...how long you have until..."

"Until I disappear." Savitar was motionless.

Caitlin wound the heels of her palms in opposite directions against one another, still watching him. "Right."

Savitar let out one of Barry's snorts that substituted for a laugh. " _Right_. You know, Doctor Snow, I think your bedside manner needs work." He moved to look at her with his scars and smirk and Caitlin felt a snowstorm stir within her, held back by her necklace. She kept herself from envisioning what it would be like to shoot a few icicles his way. He did _not_ get to turn to her with that cockiness, the look the Flash loved to sport after a successful mission, as she finished patching him up.

Caitlin stared back at him, trying not to get too caught up in his conversant appearance. If she thought about how impossible he was—to be so Barry and so not—where he came from—aspirin again. Instead she focused on maintaining a poker face. She'd had to practice it often enough when Cisco was around at work.

Savitar swung an arm up to gesture to the right-hand corner of his own mouth. "You got a little frosting right here, Cait." He let the arm drop as she fixed it, nodding those many nods people nodded when they just knew everything. "I can see you guys are working _real_ hard on getting this right."

Maybe it was the sarcasm, or the fact that she only let two people call her _Cait_ , and Savitar was neither Barry _nor_ Ronnie. Caitlin drew herself up, cold swirling behind her eyes.

"I don't think you're in any position to go criticizing our methods," she told him quietly.

The smirk didn't slip off.

Cisco was back, talking a mile a minute before he'd fully entered the room, clearly speculating. "What we need is something to _block_ detection, you know? Something to keep the paradox from finding him, like a, like a shield..." He snapped his fingers a few times, looking at the floor as he walked but not seeing it, coming around the desk to get to his computer. He bumped into Savitar, who was still favoring the right side.

Cisco started. Too close to Barry's burnt face, he drew back a little more than he needed to, brown eyes going hard again.

Savitar lifted a hand in a small wave, a jovial, plastic smile springing up. "Hi Cisco!"

"Are you still here?" Cisco looked Savitar up and down, shaking his head a little on his way around him.

"Sure looks like it, doesn't it, buddy?"

Cisco pointed a lollipop at him Caitlin hadn't realized he'd retrieved. "Don't call me that."

Savitar's hands drifted to his pockets and he leaned against the desk, back to watching them. Caitlin didn't know how long he planned on standing there, but it wasn't exactly a big motivator. She saw Cisco still for a moment, looking at the keys without touching them.

"How uh, how's the view back there, Digiorno?" Cisco said loudly. "We're trying to get stuff done. Your legs broken?"

"Want me to break yours?" Savitar replied lazily.

Cisco turned around too quickly to maintain nonchalance. " _Hey_ , okay, no! No, you don't get to make threats anymore, you got it? We could just be twiddling our thumbs here and watch you blip on out of time, but we're not. Because our _friend_ asked us to fix you. So how bout you show a little gratitude and leave us alone so we can save your clinically-insane butt? Huh?"

Savitar was laughing before Cisco had finished speaking. It was very quiet, and at first they didn't realize it was happening because he'd let his head droop. His shoulders bobbed. Caitlin had felt like slapping Barry before—usually after he'd done something stupid and she was cleaning a wound—but this was stronger; she could absolutely do it right now and not feel sorry later.

Caitlin put a hand on Cisco's shoulder, rubbing a little the way Ronnie used to do for him when Cisco 'gave up' on a project after an all-nighter.

But Cisco wasn't having it. Gently he pulled himself away from her and gave her a sulky, apologetic, "Nuh-uh, I need some air, I'm not doing this right now. Not for him."

He flicked his lollipop into the trash bin with a thunk that should not have been loud given the lollipop's weight. With a last flower-withering glance at Savitar, Cisco stormed from the Cortex.

Savitar watched him go, and when he wasn't in view anymore, the speedster turned his bored stare to the ceiling.

"I don't know what we did to you to make you this way," Caitlin found herself muttering, "but Cisco's right. Whatever it was, it doesn't give you an excuse to treat us like that. Barry brought you here to help you, even after everything you did." Savitar met her eyes, expressionless. Caitlin felt the bitterness pool on her tongue, spitting out every word. Nobody messed with Cisco. "You are making it _really_ difficult to try any harder."

Savitar was inches from her before she could complete a blink. He was grinning now, one blue eye gleaming. "That's a lot of ice, Cait." He took her necklace's pendant in one hand, between a finger and thumb. "You're not holding out on us, are you?"

Caitlin held his gaze bravely for a few seconds more, but it felt like a spider was crawling up her spine. She yanked away from him, moving to the other side of the desk. She could feel her hands growing colder. She should've moved away as soon as he approached, she shouldn't have let him anywhere near her necklace. Standing up to him was one thing, but if he'd managed to steal her trinket, she would've lost all control of herself. In the back of her mind, that same old logic was telling her the only thing he'd gain in making her Killer Frost at this point was a few wicked laughs, but she wasn't going to risk it anyway.

"It's too bad I don't have something like that," Savitar went on, pointing to the necklace. "A failsafe that goes with my eyes. Well," He raised an eyebrow. "One of them, anyway."

 _Very funny._ Caitlin folded her arms around herself and waited for his next move. She couldn't work while he was in the Cortex. It was too soon after H.R., after Wally's injuries—which he was only just healing from—too soon after the night Iris nearly died.

She expected him to rattle off a few more taunts, but she was going to be disappointed. Savitar turned and slipped out of the room, so slowly she wondered if he were deliberately keeping from flashing out just to make her squirm.

Caitlin returned to the monitors, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the glow from her pendant. It was hard enough trying to figure out how to defy time and space. They were doing it for someone who deserved everything coming to him. More than one headache was going to be plaguing her before the morning was over.

* * *

 **(Next chapter coming soon! I got this whole thing outlined, baby. Give it a chance. -Doverstar)**


	2. Chapter 2: Jurassic Bling

**(Author's Note: I really do like reviews. A LOT. Give me all your thoughts and feels. -Doverstar)**

* * *

Caitlin felt as if she'd just fallen asleep when her phone burst into the chorus of Grease's _Summer Lovin'_ on her nightstand. She nearly fell out of bed trying to reach it, mind late to the party with exhaustion. She was already sleeping horizontally rather than vertically—it must've been the dreams she'd been having.

She'd dreamt of Killer Frost and Ronnie in Iris' place on Infantino Street. One moment Barry had been beside her, they had both been in the grass, begging Savitar in his hulking armor to let Ronnie go. Caitlin had turned to Barry, only to see her own reflection in his eyes—she was Killer Frost. Where was her necklace? Caitlin had heard of people drawing an X on the backs of their hands, in an experiment designed to enhance one's dreaming. The theory was that if you had something—like an X on your hand—every day before sleeping for a few months, and noticed it gone, your brain would realize that a physical development that it had been becoming used to was now missing. In the wake of this revelation, you would become aware that you weren't awake, thus able to control the outcome of your dream.

Caitlin had hoped, after Julian and Cisco had gifted her with the necklace, that it could work like that, and fight off the bad dreams she'd been having since she discovered her powers. But it hadn't. She had looked for the necklace in her nightmare, seeing the white, frozen ends of her hair too late, but it hadn't been there. And she hadn't woken up, or realized that what was around her wasn't real. Ice covered her boots, ran up her legs, past her waist, encasing her torso. She fought to free herself, _so_ cold, but Caitlin couldn't move an inch. The Flash was still beside her, but he didn't seem to notice what was happening to her, who she was. His eyes were locked on the pavement several yards away, where Savitar held Ronnie by the neck.

"Let him go!" Caitlin had screamed, as the ice claimed her shoulders. Her voice sounded rushed, shivering with something else—echoes chasing up and down her words. Killer Frost's tones.

Barry was saying something, bent double, ready to dash, but though she saw his mouth moving, Caitlin couldn't hear any of it. She saw his fingers curl into his palms.

A glance back at the villain told her Savitar was aiming the metal spear at Ronnie's chest. Ronnie was saying her name, she knew, but smoke rolled from his open mouth and she couldn't make it out. His eyes were shooting sparks. The metal spear was inches from his back.

"Barry, save him!" Caitlin had shrieked. In desperation, she gave one final jerk, and the ice shattered around her. _Yes!_ She moved to approach the pavement, the cold swirling from both palms. " _Flash_!" She needed him.

Suddenly he stood in her way. "That's not my name."

 _Now_ she could hear him? Caitlin slammed into his chest, her momentum and his unexpected movement causing a collision.

"No—" Caitlin stared into Savitar's one good eye. He was wearing Barry's S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt, looking triumphantly over his shoulder at the steps. The true Flash was nowhere to be seen; he'd abandoned this dream.

Savitar's armor took its cue, stabbing Caitlin's fiancee through the heart. Ronnie burst into flames, and when Caitlin screamed, it sounded like the vibrating of a cell phone.

Then she'd jolted awake.

Now she untangled herself from the sheets, reaching for her phone as the blasts of _Summer Lovin'_ rocked it against the wood of her nightstand.

"What is it, Cisco?" she groaned, sitting up straight.

"Meet me at S.T.A.R. Labs! I think I solved our paradox problem."

* * *

When Caitlin first met Cisco, employed by Dr. Wells, she'd had to grow used to the unorthodox ways he came up with most of his genius devices. Hartley had been jealous with good reason. An IQ number like Cisco's could be found elsewhere, of course, but the code his head and imagination had been written in wasn't likely to be copied in this universe or any other. The first time she'd noticed this, Cisco had swaggered past her workstation, heading straight for Wells' office, holding a box of Lite Brites and wearing 3D theater glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. When Caitlin had asked why he was bringing toys to work, Cisco had chosen to demonstrate rather than give her an earful. He'd figured out how to charge the particle accelerator's power source without giving half the city a blackout, something that had been a roadblock for the S.T.A.R. Labs team for months until then.

It was for this reason that she wasn't surprised when, joining the team in their usual croissant-shaped gathering stance in the Cortex, Cisco rubbed his hands together and said to them, "So this morning I spilled orange juice on my pants and I figured out how to save little mister Mirror Match."

Iris' eyebrows dipped. "You spilled orange juice on your pants?"

Joe grunted. "Done that before. 'Cept mine was coffee. _Hot_ coffee."

Everyone immediately looked Cisco's lower half up and down. Wally was hiding a smile with a fist, no doubt trying to look mature. Barry's head was cocked like a puppy's.

"Obviously I changed before I got here." Cisco rolled his eyes heavenward; for someone so goofy, he seemed to become exasperated with the smaller minds around him more and more often. He must have picked up a few things from Harry. "Okay, forget the OJ, people, all right? Let's talk about _this_."

He held up what looked like a very heavy, bronze slap-bracelet, the kind you could get at a convenience store to entertain the kid waiting in the car. It wasn't a perfect, whole band; there was an opening to accommodate all wrist sizes.

Cisco's face told them all it was Christmas morning. Their faces told him Game of Thrones had dropped another plot twist.

"It's not finished—still got some bugs to work out, but this is totally the answer." He looked around at them, wide-eyed. "It's a frequency equalizer, y'all."

Barry glanced at Caitlin with raised eyebrows. Caitlin looked back distractedly, mind whirling to translate. There was a beat, then Family West, with their same average, loving genes, all started talking at once.

"Mm." Iris nodded hard. "You're gonna have to—"

"—need to break it down a little more—" Joe was saying.

"I only speak English, bro—" Wally showed his palms.

"He means," Barry began, gesturing with one hand and holding his coffee in the other, "that he's gonna...it's..." He paused, rolling his head around to look at Cisco. "Yeah man, I'm sorry, what is it?"

"Please," chimed Caitlin, who was still trying to understand without additional information.

Cisco sighed, long-suffering. "This explains why you all go to bed before midnight. Okay—think of it like Jurassic Park."

Caitlin looked to the floor, picturing a buggy in the rain. Barry was squinting at Cisco. Family West did not seem any less frustrated. Caitlin's eyes cut longingly to her workstation, wondering how long it would be before Cisco's presentation was wrapped up and she could get back to things that made sense, back to her element.

"So you know how they keep saying in Jurassic Park that if you move, the big bad tyrannosaur's gonna see you and you dead?" Cisco raised his eyebrows practically to his hairline. "It's the same kind of thing with Savitar and the paradox. If it can't detect him, it can't erase him."

"And that thing keeps it from seeing him?" Joe demanded, pointing with his phone to the bronze band in Cisco's hand.

"Exactly." Cisco pointed back with said band, delighted someone was understanding his genius. "It's all about the temporal zone, friends! Our timeline's all screwed up cuz of Savitar losing when he wasn't supposed to lose—congrats, Team Flash—and it's a big wave of Laws of Time energy coming after him. _But_ , if we give him something to shield him—"

"Like camouflage," Barry interjected, eyes bright.

Cisco beamed at his buddy. "Like camouflage, the energy won't come near him and he's safe. We basically had to toss a blanket over him so the paradox couldn't see him."

"You're talking like the paradox is sentient," Caitlin interrupted. She was fingering her necklace's pendant. "It can't _see_ where he'll be. How can we work off of that theory? It's too risky."

Cisco held up a hand to her, his usual _chill, girl_ pose. "Work with me, Caitlin. This shield thing was your idea, remember? It's like a disease—diseases aren't sentient, right? But they just 'know' where to go and what to hit to compromise the body. If Savitar can't be found, he can't be zapped, problem solved." He paused, another eye-roll coming on, muttering as an afterthought, " _His_ problem, anyway." Cisco waved his hands, returning to the point. "So I started thinking. How do we hide him from the paradox?"

"You said it's all about the temporal zone," Barry offered, letting Wally steal his coffee for a sip so he could fold his arms.

Cisco nodded, clapping his hands together. "And what is the temporal zone, you may ask?"

"We do ask, Cisco," Iris confirmed impatiently.

This only seemed to make him cheerier. "It's Limbo, you guys. It's this little tunnel outside of time, like a subway to get whenever you wanna go. Time doesn't touch it. How do you think the Legends get around history without a Speedster?" Cisco wiggled his eyebrows at Barry, who was looking surprised. "Uh huh, yeah, I'm up to date." Everyone else ignored this, clearly ready for the explanation to end. He stepped forward, holding his band aloft for all to see. "All the different Earths vibrate at a different frequency. This little baby will allow Savitar to vibrate at the _same_ frequency as the temporal zone."

A lightbulb exploded in Caitlin's brain. She could practically hear it pop. Excitement surged through her, the exact feeling she'd gotten when she started understanding algebra for the first time at a mere eight years old.

"So as far as the paradox can tell," she managed, grinning with discovery, " _he'll_ be outside of time!"

"Just like the temporal zone," Barry added, in that breathy way that told Caitlin he was impressed.

"Standing still," Cisco finished, practically dancing. "So the T. Rex don't see him." He handed Barry the band. "I call it the Hammond Cuff."

"That's brilliant, Cisco," Caitlin praised.

"But _we'll_ see him, right?" Iris checked, obviously still a step behind the room's biggest nerds. Her eyes were glued to the Hammond Cuff.

"No worries." Cisco waved a hand at her for spoiling their moment with technicalities. "You can see me when I'm vibing, but I'm moving at a different frequency than this Earth—it'll be the same for him."

"And...how do we know for sure this is gonna work?" Joe cleared his throat.

Cisco's eyebrows puckered defensively. "Oh, because my stuff's always so unreliable?"

"Yes," they all answered. Barry coughed something that sounded suspiciously like _cold gun_ , and, strangely, Caitlin wanted to laugh. It was good to be winning again, to have something figured out. She could tell the others were lifted too.

"We'll find out if it really works in two days, no matter what," she announced. Dr. Snow shrugged a shoulder, physically apologizing to Cisco for taking his tell. "Cisco did some Vibe calculating. The paradox won't wait longer than that."

"I'll go wake him up, let him know." Barry handed the Hammond Cuff back to Cisco, heading for the door.

Wally shook his head. "You know, for a psycho super villain, he likes sleepin' in."

Iris joined her father and brother as they, too, moved for the exit. There wasn't much the three of them could do here; they were hardly the brains of the operation. "I guess thousands of years in the Speed Force going crazy really takes it out of you."

"He can sleep all he wants," Joe grumbled. "I like him better unconscious."

* * *

Caitlin knew Barry could be impatient. Anyone with super speed would be. But Barry, according to stories Joe and Iris told over dinners and holidays, had just always wanted things to get started, even as a kid. He wanted to be more, and everything went too slowly. A lot of people, especially intelligent people, knew that time could just _drag_ on and on some days. Magnify that feeling about three hundred times—that was how Barry must have felt daily. When you were faster than the whole world...what could be more frustrating than that?

And it seemed to Caitlin that all of Barry's negative traits—pride, bitterness, and yes, impatience, to name a few—were the threads used to stitch together Savitar. Barry had proven that his true personality, his humanity, was still somewhere inside that scarred, broken shell with his face and his wit. But everything acting as the organs, the bones, the skin around that heart—it was all Barry's worst qualities.

Telling Barry Allen to take a day to heal before heading back onto the field was like keeping a younger sibling from touching the stove while you weren't looking.

Telling Savitar he had to wait two days to find out of he'd be allowed to exist anymore was like praying the Lord would end the suffering as the kid searched for other forms of entertainment.

At first, they hadn't seen him. Not after Barry went to fill him in on Cisco's Hammond Cuff. Barry had assured them he wasn't a threat over and over, and if Barry said it, they had to believe it. That didn't keep them from feeling just a little off as they worked through the day, knowing he was wandering the building with nothing left to do now that he wasn't plotting to make them miserable.

Barry had gone to be a forensic scientist—which was apparently something he still did—with Joe at the CCPD. His real job. Iris had gone home, probably to plan the wedding. She'd been recuperating at the apartment a lot since H.R. had taken her place. Barry had explained she'd need time. Wally was out saving the day as Kid Flash, and Caitlin had one eye on his vitals in the Cortex as he stopped robberies and saved cats from trees. The other eye was on Cisco, who was on the other end of the room, hard at work on his Hammond Cuff.

Every step in the corridors had Caitlin looking over her shoulder, expecting dark hair and a darker outfit, expecting Savitar to come around the corner.

Each time she saw him, her brain and her emotions had a full-blown Presidential debate. Because it was Barry, her emotions said as she recognized him. Her own personal superhero, her friend, her confidant, the man that made her angrier than anyone and completely safe. A flashlight of a person.

And then her brain would shove her emotions out of the way, because no, it was Savitar. Savitar, who terrorized Julian and took H.R. from them, the man who would kill Iris West and split Team Flash down the middle as if they had shared nothing at all, ever, with his smirk and eyes that said he was out of his mind. Complete, unlimited wickedness.

Now that complete, unlimited wickedness knew he may or may not have had two days left to live, he was all the more intolerable. Clearly unenthused by the wait time.

Caitlin didn't realize how long he'd been lingering in the doorway until she glanced at the dormant monitor to her left, seeing him behind her in the reflection. She turned in her chair, a little too quickly.

Savitar didn't seem to want much conversation. He'd become one with the wall, friendly with the shadows, staring at what little he could see of the Hammond Cuff past Cisco's hunched form.

Caitlin watched him, wondering if he'd notice...well, that _she'd_ noticed. Noticed him. He couldn't lounge in the corner forever. It was childish, but she felt if he knew she was aware of him, he wouldn't be so smug, standing there. So nonchalant and detached, uncaring while they worked. He wasn't sneaky, this wasn't her first rodeo, she knew he was there, she won. But he didn't look at her. Boy, she missed Barry when he was gone.

They had faced the Reverse Flash, Zoom, time wraiths, all kinds of evil. It was so new to have that kind of inhumanity living among them. Yes, Thawne and Zoloman had done it for a while, but that was when they'd deceived the team. They hadn't _known_ there was a serial killer beneath their roof, making friends.

This was different. The worst foe they had ever faced, the jolt behind every sleepless night and the sting behind every helpless tear. The reason Iris had spent early mornings at Jitters with Caitlin because Barry was being the Flash and his fiancee could _not_ be alone in that apartment. The reason Wally had cried in his sleep every night for the past month, according to Joe. The reason Barry would slip away, into his own mind where none of them could see him, more often now than ever before. Glazed green eyes, fixated on what he could become and the possibility of losing the girl he couldn't live without.

And he was just _standing_ there. Savitar. Cisco could barely handle breathing his air, Iris avoided his eyes, Joe refused to look at him altogether. Wally's face lost all arrogance and color when they shared a room, even for a minute; Kid Flash just seemed genuinely afraid. Only Barry seemed undaunted, and Caitlin knew it was because he was the one person who knew exactly what was happening in that mauled brain. He knew what Savitar was feeling—because Barry knew what _he_ could feel, the potential, what he had felt before, and Savitar was all of that times a thousand.

That was all Caitlin had to hear. If Barry promised Savitar was done punishing them, then that was all there was to it. No one else could make a better argument; seeing the two speedster standing in the same building was argument enough.

Of course, this didn't make it easy to have him around. Especially when he had a very obvious expiration date.

"How's it coming?" he asked suddenly, each word a dull brick dropping into the air, making both scientists jerk.

Cisco shook his head, not turning around to acknowledge him further.

Savitar unfolded his arms and craned his neck to catch another glimpse of the device that could save his life. "It's running on temporal energy, isn't it?"

Everything he said was sandpaper. Caitlin was so unaccustomed to hearing Barry say anything without the maximum amount of emotion. Deadpan was so not him, it was fascinating to watch it come out anyway.

Cisco was not giving Savitar anything. Caitlin's eyes followed the speedster as he made his way to Ramon's workstation. She felt her arms tingle, ready for the inevitable smartmouth face-off about to get underway. Savitar got off on making Cisco uncomfortable. The engineer was very easy to disconcert. Cisco's lungs and tone had been longing for a punching bag. Wells' murderer was the perfect target.

She wanted to say something, every time they went toe-to-toe. Killer Frost would've gotten right into the thick of things, she knew. Probably would've taken over Cisco's side completely, matching Savitar insult for insult, cutting deeper and deeper. But she wasn't Killer Frost. She wouldn't allow it, never again. If that meant knowing when to let her own tongue loose, well, wasn't that wisdom? Cisco and Savitar could argue until the two of them were blue in the face. Caitlin and Killer Frost were both good at picking their battles. She bit her lip and stayed silent.

Savitar reached for the Hammond Cuff, and Cisco jerked it away like a toddler protecting its favorite toy.

"I want to see it," Savitar said, as coolly and simply as if he were saying the sky was blue.

"There it is," Cisco replied in an undertone, eyes like chips of shrapnel. He uncovered the Hammond Cuff for a split second. "You can see it fine."

The speedster chortled. Savitar's hand moved at superhuman speed, of course, and in a heartbeat he was turning the device over and over, examining every inch of it. His finger ran over the lightning bolt carved into the inside of the band, Cisco's chosen signature on any tech made for the Flash. Caitlin wondered briefly if he'd done it out of habit or because, in a way, this Hammond Cuff _had_ been made for the Flash. A version of him, anyway.

Savitar was looking at the signature bolt so long, it was as if he'd gone to sleep standing up. His right eyebrow was a little lower than his left, and his nose wrinkled very slightly—you guessed it—just like Barry's. Barry had worn the same expression when he showed Caitlin Joe's old photo albums that past Christmas Eve, pointing to a picture he couldn't remember posing for. It depicted a seven year old Allen on his front porch with little Iris eating ice cream, his mother in the background. Barry had looked at the photo as if drinking the last drop of water after spending all day in the heat.

Savitar was studying the lightning bolt sign with just as much desperation. And only Caitlin was seeing it.

"It's not finished yet," she explained, voice hoarse from hours without use.

Savitar's eyes tore from the band and met hers, and she wished she hadn't said anything. They were so guarded— _no_ , it was impossible he could ever be Barry Allen. Nowhere, nothing could make Barry, their _Barry_ , look like that. Those eyes had never been that locked and empty and cold, not when they were looking at her. Barry wanted to help, he just wanted to help everyone, and those mismatched eyes said there wasn't anyone in the world to help. Logic was abandoning her; her brain would not accept what was standing several feet away. That wasn't Barry. That couldn't be Barry and probably had never been Barry.

 _But it is._ How _could he get this way?_ As his personal physician, Caitlin wanted to analyze the problem and prescribe a solution. Not that he would ever allow that. Because that wasn't Barry.

It was like he could feel her curling away from him, when she had been stepping closer to observe just moments before. Savitar dropped the Cuff back onto Cisco's table, more gently than he could have, and went on gazing at Caitlin as if he were now watching a dying insect in the corner.

"When will it be ready?"

Caitlin, relieved he had released Cisco's all-important device, found her voice again. "We're not sure—"

"It'll be done a lot faster if you quit interrupting," Cisco muttered to the former god of speed, pulling his Vibe goggles from around his neck and strapping them on.

Savitar rolled his eyes across the walls and up to the ceiling, the perfect image of the Flash during a lecture from the Arrow. "I can help you," he said tartly. "You don't think I know a thing or two about temporal energy? You trapped me in the Speed Force for _decades_ , remember?"

"Uh, no, Doc, no, we don't, we don't remember that." Cisco ripped his goggles off and slapped them down on the table, gesturing patronizingly between himself and Caitlin with a finger. "See cuz, we aren't there yet, welcome to the _past_! Where we ain't done nothing to your medium-rare hiney!"

Savitar watched him, unimpressed. Not rising to the bait.

Cisco scoffed. "You're not getting anywhere near this thing, okay? Like I'm gonna let you get your hands on another piece of our tech. It's done when it's done." Back on the goggles went. "Go bother somebody else, Daddy's busy."

There was a sickly flash of yellow light, and Savitar wasn't beside Cisco anymore. Caitlin waited for her partner to turn around, maybe rave about the nerve of the murderer, or at least search for comfort in a glance. But Cisco bent over his work and stayed there, tunnel vision, fully focused again. Shutting it all out.

Caitlin would talk to him later; she had work of her own to take care of. Wally's vitals were no longer onscreen. He must've taken off his suit. She checked the time—2:15. He was probably at school, she surmised, rolling in her chair and turning to the other screen to boot it up. Time to get back to...

A gasp made her throat cold. "Yes?" she forced out.

Savitar was leaning over the screen, standing on the other side of the desk with his arms folded across the top of the monitor. "What do we have going on over here?"

Caitlin blinked at him, not comprehending. He just made her _stiff_ , like Ronnie had just died yesterday. Everything he was was incorrect.

"What are you still doing in this room?" she hissed icily, lowering her voice so that Cisco wouldn't be disturbed. His goggles were on; he was probably tapping into some of that temporal energy. He shouldn't be able to hear them.

Nevertheless, Savitar glanced carelessly over his shoulder at Cisco, talking in an equally hushed tone. "Daddy's busy."

He flashed to the chair beside her—she blinked and he was on her left. His scars were like looking at toasted bread through a microscope, and she fought the primal urge to make a face at the close-up she was being given.

"What's Mommy working on?" he demanded. The question was a lemon—bright on the outside, sour on the inside. Thinly coated by Barry's teasing, motivated by Savitar's general contempt toward her and the entire team.

Caitlin closed her eyes for a moment. Her heart was pounding so loudly; he'd hear it and feed on the fear of him that was still all too present. _Calm your nerves, come on. Deep breaths._ _One...two...three..four...five...six—_

Savitar snapped his fingers inches from her ear, over and over, _clickclickclick_. "Hey."

Caitlin felt the wheels of her chair roll three paces from his, heels shuffling across the floor to put distance between them at the sound of his hand anywhere near her head. Her eyes snapped open.

Savitar paused, arm still aloft to snap some more, as if her movement surprised him. His face very intentionally told her it didn't. He shifted back into that relaxed, tired teenager posture he was so fond of. "It's kinda rude to shut down and count to ten when someone's talking to you, don't you agree, Doctor Snow?"

Caitlin felt rather than saw Cisco turn to look at them. Her gaze traveled all over Savitar's face, but it gave away nothing. She shouldn't have been so startled by his words. But she couldn't help it. She knew the answer, and yet: "How did..."

"Come on, Caitlin." Savitar raised his eyebrows, tone adding _really?_ to the response. The corners of his mouth curled into another horrible grin. "Who taught you that?"

It was the smile. Every time. It froze her blood. What he was implying had Caitlin shooting to her feet, unable to be that near to a face she loved so well and a gray voice she really, really _hated_. " _Barry Allen_ taught me that," she snapped.

Caitlin switched off the monitor and stormed from the room.

* * *

 **(Next chapter is in the works! -Doverstar)**


	3. Chapter 3: Good Ol' Savitar Logic

**(Again, reviews are really what keeps me continuing multichapter fics like this. I love them, please consider writing one down there; even if it's just three words, I do need the encouragement.**

 **Also, I don't own the Flash. Forgot to mention that, even if it's obvious. -Doverstar)**

* * *

The smell was what really bothered him.

The smell of the Cortex. It smelled like clean laundry—probably because of the care Cisco gave to the Flash suit. It smelled like Big Belly Burger, particularly around the main desk, where Team Flash regularly ate on the go, bouncing ideas off of each other. It smelled like Cetacaine in Caitlin's wing of operations, liquid anesthesia for an ailing hero. It smelled like home.

The smell that hit him when he woke up each day in S.T.A.R. Labs, after accepting Team Flash's help, made him crazy. Well, crazi _er_. It was familiar. An eternity in the Speed Force kept him from that scent, and he'd needed the distance.

Whenever he was in the Cortex now, forced to drink in that smell, suffocating him, it took him backward faster than anything else had, all this time. Well—rather, it took him _forward_. Backward for him, forward for all of them.

To the day he became who he was, the day everything inside of him got sick.

Every time he closed his eyes, Savitar saw their faces.

* * *

Back when he'd still been a copy of Barry, in 2024, back when he still _was_ Barry Allen in his own mind. He had just pulled off his suit's red hood, looking over his own hands, his arms, down over his body, not quite believing he was still alive. The only time remnant to survive. Moments ago, he had watched the God Of Speed slaughter the others his original self had created, before the metal-clad villain was shot into the Speed Force by Tracy's _finally_ successful bazooka. The gun had worked—just not soon enough; Iris was already dead.

But they had stopped him. At last. Savitar was defeated, seven years too late.

Barry Allen's last time remnant had gazed around the room, breathing hard, the left half of his face unfeeling and caked in blood from the fight he'd just helped finish.

"We did it," he had breathed out, tasting the blood as it leaked into his open mouth. It didn't matter. It proved he was flesh and bone, Savitar hadn't killed him too.

2024's Cisco Ramon was watching him with fascination, metal hands clicking as he rubbed them together the way he had in the old days, near his chin, when something was just so impossible, he couldn't get over it.

"You're alive," Cisco had said, squinting. Though the remnant could tell he was excited, there was something else there too—wariness? Why was he looking at him like that? They'd won. Iris was avenged. It wouldn't bring her back, but at least her murderer hadn't gotten off in the end. At least they could still do this for her.

The hollow that had opened in Barry since Iris' death was in the remnant, too. The black hole in his heart, sucking in everything that mattered anymore. If it was in the original, it was in his remnant. But after seeing the others massacred not even twenty minutes ago, this remaining copy was too in awe of the actual _life_ , the many breaths he would get to take, stretching out before him to feel the hollow. Just for now, he was distracted from the pain.

The real Barry—the one that had created the remnants—returned to the Cortex a moment later, lightning in his wake. He had stared at the time remnant, walking in a circle around him.

"He left one?" The Barry Allen of 2024 had sounded exhausted when he said it. Drained, broken. As if it didn't really matter either way. "Why?"

Cisco did not look at his old friend straight on, choosing instead to keep studying the time remnant. "Not sure. Maybe it was an accident."

"He doesn't make accidents," Barry had murmured, coming in close to his remnant. "You can't stay here."

That was how it had begun. _You can't stay here_. The remnant had appealed to Cisco. He knew 2024's Ramon was desperate to reform Team Flash, after Barry Allen had shut it down. Iris' death marked the end of Central City's crimefighting undergrounders, because the Flash would not allow it to continue. The time remnant had offered to rebuild, but for some reason, Cisco wasn't interested.

"You're not the real Flash," he had murmured, staring right into the duplicate's remaining eye, resigned to hopelessness.

 _You're not the real Flash._

The remnant remembered meeting Cisco. The first thing he had heard when he dragged out of that 9-month coma was an adequate sing-along to _Poker Face_ , and when he opened his eyes, the smell of a lollipop and the sight of friendly brown eyes had been waiting for him. The remnant remembered the hugs and the fist bumps. He remembered forgiving him for revealing the Flash's identity in an attempt to save his brother's life. He remembered supporting Cisco through his early days using his Vibe abilities. He remembered sharing burgers and going to the movies. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Cisco's loyalty and jokes and love.

But Cisco didn't want him.

The remnant had gone to Wally. Wally, who was still recovering at home from his own solo battle with Savitar. Recovering from a shattered spine. After Iris' death, Wally West had been enraged, willing to risk his own life to avenge his sister. He went after the God of Speed himself. Day by day, his speech decreased. Day by day he ate less and less, and he stopped moving from room to room in his wheelchair.

"Wally—Wally, it's me, it's Barry." The remnant kept the mask on this time, stifling his injuries as best he could, kneeling at Wally's chair, hands gripping its metal arms.

Wally's eyes had focused on him, just for a moment. But it wasn't enough. He wouldn't say anything. He didn't seem to understand he was being spoken to. So the remnant pulled the hood off.

"We won, we won, we beat him. We beat Savitar, man. We got him. Wally? Wally, please—"

Somehow, in his bleary state, Wally had seen it. He'd seen the remnant for what he was, without a moment's doubt. He made sure he got it out, too-long spaces between each word as his mind struggled to stay in the present. In his eyes, someone had taken his mentor and aired him out, so that the holes could be seen clearly—

"No. You're not my brother."

 _You're not my brother._

The remnant remembered when Wally had showed up on the Wests' front door one Christmas night. The kid had walked in and headed straight for the apple cider, ignoring the eggnog—just as Barry had done at the beginning of the festivities. He had been sent reeling at dark eyes like Iris' and a laugh like Joe's. He remembered helping Wally with his school project. He remembered giving up his speed for Wally, training Wally. He remembered teasing Iris and racing side by side and spending Mother's Day together. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Wally's admiration and smile and love.

But Wally didn't want him either.

The remnant stumbled out of the living room. He wanted his dad. He wanted his dad.

Joe was in Iris' old room. Everything was the same, even the soccer ball underneath the bed. He was looking through a high school yearbook, ignoring a ringing cell phone on the bed.

"Joe," he had whispered, "I need your help."

The temporal duplicate had launched, babbling with nerves, into explaining himself. But Joe West hadn't seen or heard from Barry Allen in seven years, not since he'd lost his daughter, so that face already wasn't welcome. And when he heard the words _Savitar_ and _time remnant_ , Joe held up a hand. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but they were also as sharp as if he were on the job. His head swung back and forth, slowly, and his gaze was fixed on an old picture sitting on the nightstand.

"Get out," he had whispered back. "Get out, you're not him, you're not mine."

 _You're not mine._

The remnant remembered Joe's firm hand on his shoulder. Eleven years old, trembling, pushed gently for every step forward as he entered the West household for his first ever night there. He remembered Joe's silhouette against the moonlight from his bedroom window, sitting with him until he fell asleep, afraid of the Man In Yellow. The remnant remembered being taught how to drive, Joe in the shotgun seat. He remembered showing Joe how his new abilities could allow him to change his voice. He remembered calling Joe 'Dad' before running into the time stream, he remembered moving back in. He remembered the smell of pizza and decorating the Christmas tree and a firm, comforting arm around his shoulders. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Joe's selflessness and tears and love.

But Joe didn't want him.

None of them _wanted_ him.

Utterly alone, heart heaving, refusing to break, gasping and shuddering instead, the time remnant had wandered the world at a dead run. Running harder than he had ever run in his life. But was it _his_ life? Was it his? Wasn't it Barry's, wasn't _he_ Barry? Why didn't they want him? Everything his family, his friends, _his_ people had ever been to him, everything he thought he knew they had felt for him, was now null and void.

It was spinning, too blurry to see anymore. Like it hadn't been there at all. It was more than betrayal, it was just a lie.

Even if he was a copy, a temporal duplicate, a time remnant, wasn't he still Barry Allen, their Barry Allen?

And wouldn't they help Barry Allen?

Didn't they love Barry Allen? Didn't they love _him_?

A lie. They didn't need him. They had one already. A spare Flash, that was what he was, a disposable hero, an aberration. _Aberration, noun: a departure from what is normal, usual, or expected, typically one that is unwelcome._ One that is unwelcome. Not Barry Allen. What was he supposed to do if he wasn't?

What was he doing here? Alive?

He remembered every second with every one of them, how was he supposed to go on without any of them?

He had already lost Iris—or had Barry lost Iris? He was losing them, too.

Why couldn't it stop, why did he lose everyone?

Had he ever had them to begin with?

Cisco, Iris, Joe, Wally, Caitlin, Julian, Harrison Wells—he wasn't Barry, he wasn't, not to them. If he wasn't Barry Allen to them, who could he be?

It was too much. Everything circled back in his mind, the world was too tiny, he couldn't get away. _Time remnant_. _Not Barry._ He was running like Barry. He felt the power and the wind rush past his damaged face, but there wasn't color in it anymore. 2024, full of lights and sounds and _colors_. He couldn't see any of it. No color. Red wasn't the right one for him anymore.

It was cracking him open. Should he go back and reason with them? Anger made the Speed Force zap and writhe behind his good eye. _They don't deserve it_. Was this how they had felt all along? Only one Barry? If another Barry, _their Barry_ , just a copy, needed them, they couldn't be bothered? This was what he had been to them all along. They needed to be punished. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

A speedster shouldn't hurt. He shouldn't have to feel pain, a duplicate of the Fastest or not. He had too much power, too much in him, to feel pain.

So he would become a god. Gods didn't feel pain.

The time remnant would be Savitar. God of Speed. It all made sense now. _Of course_. This was why he had lived, why the other remnants had to die. He wouldn't need anyone else. He would show them. He would show Barry Allen, the 'real' Barry Allen, what it was like to be abandoned and forgotten this way. They wanted one Flash? They could have him.

Savitar, brain crumpled, knew _exactly_ how to break them. He had lived it.

 _They didn't want him._

* * *

And the smell of the Cortex today reminded him.

Back to 2017, their present, his past.

He needed their help. They wanted to give it to him. They wanted to save him—or at least, Barry Allen did. Iris did. The others were of a more dented metal, not quite as gold, but he had a sneaking feeling they didn't want to see him die anymore either.

He didn't want to admit why. He didn't want to admit he had been wrong in 2024, when he had decided to become Savitar. But he could feel it. He could feel them recognizing him as Barry Allen—but only conditionally. _A_ Barry Allen, not _the_ Barry Allen. He was both to them. He was Barry when the paradox was clawing for him, but he was Savitar everywhere else. Their enemy. They would never all be friends again.

But they were too _good_ to watch him disappear helplessly after he had accepted their way out. It couldn't really be that they saw what he had begged them to see at the beginning of his creation—their Flash.

No, they didn't _see_ him. But they cared just enough. And he would have to take it in sooner or later. But until then, the bitterness and the memories had him biting at them every chance he got. Making Cisco lash out, making Joe uncomfortable, making Iris guilty. Funny how that last one worked; he loved a good dose of irony.

" _Slow down, Barry! You can't eat the whole bake case in one sitting!_ "

Savitar winced, leaning against the corridor wall. Images flicked through his mind. New memories.

" _Wally , you wanna top me off here, son?_ "

" _Look—I'm not kidding, Jitters makes_ the best _muffins on the planet. Iris, take a bite of this._ "

Oh. The Wests were having breakfast at Central City's favorite coffee supplier. Savitar could taste that blueberry muffin now, licking his lips. He could see Iris' smile, hear Joe's mug sliding across the table as Wally held out the pitcher of java.

Savitar's fingers went to his temples, massaging slowly. He'd had breakfast with them today. Or Barry had. Good. It had been good. No metas, no murders, the only problem was that they'd picked the table too close to the window and the morning sun had been in his eyes the whole time. Heaven, practically, all he needed. Muffins and his family. He remembered how full his heart had been.

And he also remembered a timeline where he hadn't done any of that. A timeline where Iris died. A timeline where he was alone. He—Barry. Where Barry was alone.

"You look like Hell," Cisco greeted him as Savitar finally braved the Cortex. He tried to ignore the smell this time.

Ramon and Snow were at the main desk, surrounded by papers, three different monitors showing three different, never-ending calculations. The glass demonstration board was completely covered in numbers, question marks, circles and theories. Savitar didn't take the time out to speedread it _all,_ but he gathered that they had probably been up all night working on the Hammond Cuff. Caitlin hadn't even changed out of her rarely-worn S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt.

"Really?" Savitar raised both eyebrows, feigning surprise. "I guess getting new memories will do that to you, Francesco."

"'Kay, add that to the list of things you are never ever allowed to call me," Cisco started in on him.

Caitlin cleared her throat loudly. "Speaking of new memories," she interrupted, "I think I've found a way to fix that for you."

Savitar spared her a glance. She didn't know it now, but one of the biggest divergences from his timeline and hers was her own identity. Caitlin Snow should have been wounded when Abra Kadabra escaped the pipeline. She should have become Killer Frost. He still had that timeline in his memory, he still recalled what it was to have her as an ally in his ascension.

But somehow, that hadn't happened. She hadn't undergone surgery, hadn't flatlined, hadn't embraced her darkest side. She was Doctor Snow, Barry's rock. She didn't know him at all. Not this version of him.

Two people hadn't shunned him as a time remnant in 2024. The first was Iris—because she was dead, of course. The second was Caitlin. Because she was locked away as Killer Frost in the future, she didn't get any more chance than Iris did to reject him. But he remembered her trust as she became his partner in crime, Killer Frost and Savitar, young gods.

Looking at her now, he didn't know what to make of her. Still the basket-case brunette, still unable to look him full in the jacked-up face. He held no bitterness toward her because he didn't have true memories of her casting him aside in 2024 the way he did of the others. Really, any snide remarks he made toward her were probably because he got off on seeing any of them disgruntled by him. She was part of Team Flash, and Team Flash had been his enemies for so long, it was just routine to discomfort her. He was doing some calculations of his own, watching her.

He knew what she was to Barry, what she probably still was deep within him, in that lonely part Barry had mentioned when he'd offered their help. But they wouldn't accept him as their green-eyed hero; she'd proven she was no different yesterday with her counting comment. A comment he'd been waiting for her to make. So he would withhold judgement for now. She was Caitlin Snow, someone to test and shake for kicks and giggles, but nothing deeper. He didn't _know_ her anymore, not as a friend—more like as an expert on a particular kind of animal. Barry's memories allowed Savitar to understand Caitlin as the original Flash did, clearing the path for the former God of Speed to push her buttons in just the right ways.

"That's a relief," Savitar told her throatily. "I'm getting this... _massive_ headache. Probably got something to do with the joke Joe just tried to tell at Jitters." He closed his eyes for a second, trying to mentally shake the images still pouring in. He opened them to peer at her. "Anything you could recommend, _Doctor_ Snow?"

Caitlin's weary expression grew wearier. Up all night and he was still patronizing her. But her eyebrows, when he mentioned Jitters, drew together. She was...sympathizing? Oh, he didn't need that. Not from any of them.

"Or maybe I'd better ask Cisco, I mean, cures aren't really your specialty, are they?" Savitar held out a palm, exactly as if he were apologizing for his slip-up. "Just ask Jay." Caitlin stiffened.

Cisco stood up. "Oh, you remember stuff that's happened to all of us before now?" He pointed both fingers at the floor, at 'now', painting a befuddled look on his face as if this were news to him. "Man, I had no idea, please drop some more names!"

He shouldered past Savitar, heading for his worktable. He was retrieving the Cuff.

Savitar licked his lips again, turning his attention back to Caitlin. He did want answers. Fun was fun, and making them surly was definitely helping his own mood, but now it was time to get serious.

"So what is it?"

Caitlin reached for a few papers, stacking them against the desk to straighten them. "I...I got to thinking. It must be debilitating to keep reliving whatever's happening to Barry at any given moment. So I installed a cerebellum inhibitor of my own in the Hammond Cuff. Mixed with Cisco's frequency equalization, as long as you're wearing it, you shouldn't be getting any of Barry's new memories."

Savitar's eyes followed Cisco now as he brought the Hammond Cuff to the desk for a final once-over. Caitlin was still watching him, he could tell in his peripherals. She could keep watching. He wasn't going to break into a dorky grin, wasn't going to give them a heartfelt _thank-you, guys_. He knew it was what they _wanted_ to hear. But they didn't expect it. Because, of course, to them he was Savitar. Barry Allen would thank them later for their help. They didn't need more than him.

Even if the tiniest, still heaving part of him wanted them to look for it in him.

Cisco tapped a rhythm, a code, onto the Cuff, using a minuscule number pad that hadn't been there yesterday. Its opening widened with a noise akin to the unsheathing of a sword. Caitlin stood, back against the desk, to watch as Ramon slid the cuff onto Savitar's outstretched wrist.

It tightened immediately, almost as if it were part of his skin, gleaming bronze and cold to the touch. Instantly Savitar felt reenergized. The frequency his existence vibrated at was now coupled with a new one—the one belonging to the temporal zone. It was like someone was charging him up. His legs itched to run.

"Any new memories coming in?" Caitlin checked quietly. "Is...Iris finished eating?" It was as if she were quizzing him for a Spelling Bee.

Savitar let his eyelids flutter shut, casting back. His withered heart gave a little jolt as he realized there was nothing there. Unsure how to respond to this news, he opened his eyes and shook his head.

"How's it feeling?" Cisco demanded.

Savitar turned his wrist, mouth open, attention focused on the device. "Powerful."

"Yeah, well, don't forget," Cisco said, reaching for his soda in a failed attempt to hide the pride in his work, "we won't know if it's _actually_...a success...until your 24 hours are up." He popped the straw in his mouth, holding out a hand for Caitlin to high five. Done with his sip, he added, "So don't take it off until tomorrow. If your arm—and—the rest of you's still, you know. _There_ tomorrow."

Savitar hesitated just to sneer at Cisco, letting him know the comment was not appreciated, but that felt a little too close to banter for comfort, and he gave in to the need for speed. He tore out of the Cortex, feet pounding the ground as hard as they could carry him.


	4. Chapter 4: I Volunteer As Tribute

" _We won't give up on you, okay, that is not what we do. There is a way through this, for all of us._ "

He was dreaming of Iris. Iris serving coffee at her old job, wearing that Jitters shirt that somehow looked better on her than it did on the other baristas, though they all wore the same one. Iris typing and typing at her computer late at night, keeping the world updated on the adventures of the Flash, wide awake at the thought of his latest success. Iris fanning away the smoke from the stove with a dishtowel at the apartment as her attempt at Thanksgiving turkey was foiled. Iris laughing, Iris flopping down on the couch, Iris paralyzed with indecision at the Frozens aisle in the grocery store.

Savitar had spent the remaining 24 hours before his deadline running through Central City, trying to beat away the nerves making his muscles throb. He was terrified of disappearing, he _hated_ the wait. All that running had taken its toll by the end of the day, and he'd collapsed in his room—cell—whatever, back at S.T.A.R. Labs. The Hammond Cuff was still cold and whirring around his wrist, and he held one arm underneath his chest as he fell asleep, trying to let the feel of it there calm him. He'd been so tired, he hadn't even changed clothes.

At first he was certain he wouldn't _be_ sleeping. It was pathetic. One minute he was the God of Speed, so far from being Barry Allen that Fastest Man Alive just didn't cover it anymore. Brimming with power. And then the next, he was afraid of the dark, in the home of the team that had shunned him in the first place.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, he had remembered Iris' words of comfort.

 _There is a way through this. There is a way through this._

Of course, repeating your not-dead not-fiancee's last real spoken sentence to you in the middle of the night _would_ lead to pretty dreams.

Soon she'd be Iris West-Allen. But she wouldn't be his. _Unfair_ simply didn't do it justice.

When he woke up, everything hurt. His scars always hurt in the morning, but today they seemed particularly agitated. His jacket was hot and he considered shedding it—his suit had an inbuilt cooling system. He really missed that suit. His throat was sore; he was thirsty.

 _Wait._

Savitar sat bolt upright in the bed.

He was awake. It was morning. He was _thirsty_.

He flashed up the stairs, down the corridors, straight to the Cortex. He didn't know what made his least favorite room in the building the place he chose to stop—maybe he needed to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. Only the sight of other breathing individuals could convince him. Luckily, three such individuals were waiting for him there, and none of them were Iris West. Definitely not dreaming, then.

Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin met him in the Cortex. Cisco raised one fist halfway into the air.

"Look who survived the night, guys," Ramon announced.

Barry was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nice work, Cisco."

"Thank you, Flash." Cisco drew the three words out, making sure everyone heard them, giddy with pride. He glanced to his right. "Caitlin helped."

"Caitlin helped," Caitlin agreed sweetly, gingerly accepting a fist bump.

Savitar didn't join their reverie. It was as if 2024 was happening all over again. He flexed his fingers, inhaled as deeply as he could. He was alive. The paradox hadn't reached him.

Then, for the first time, a glimmer of gratitude tried to make an appearance, somewhere buried behind his eyes and below his chest. They had been true to their word. After everything he'd done, they saved him. The only reason he was standing here now, in this lab that, yes, still smelled like a burger joint and clean laundry, was because of the people trading triumphant grins two feet from him.

He had never thought being thirsty would ever feel this good.

Savitar exhaled, letting it soak through him, eyes moving from the Hammond Cuff to Barry Allen. "...Thank you," he murmured.

Barry nodded, just once. Ever the hero. "I told you we could do it."

"And by _we_ , he totally means _us._ " Cisco jabbed a thumb between himself and Caitlin.

Savitar turned to repeat the phrase to the two scientists, a little reluctantly considering the smirk Cisco was wearing, but something stopped him. Just past Barry's shoulder, he saw the security feed on the monitor. The glimmer of gratitude died out and he lifted a finger to shake at the screen, slowly, as if his muscles hurt.

"You've been keeping tabs on me."

The grins slipped away.

"Can you blame us?" Barry asked, before anyone could defend themselves. Cisco pointed at him, nodding.

Savitar nodded. "Yes," he hissed, "I can." His arm swung back to his side, no longer pointing. And even though the old bitterness was back, swirling in his stomach, he let his words clunk out, as if he couldn't really care either way. "You said you wanted to help me. But all the while you're just sitting up here babysitting, making sure I don't step out of line."

Cisco scoffed as thickly as was humanly possible. "I'm sorry, I thought the total lack of a dude named _H.R._ around here would've been reason enough to keep an eye on you. And _you're welcome_ , by the way."

Savitar opened his mouth to retort, but like always, Barry Allen was louder.

"Look, it's not that big of a deal, okay?" Barry's hands were in his pockets; he lifted a shoulder. "It's just an extra precaution. If we wanted to lock you up for real, we could've done that already. You've gotta start trusting us more."

Savitar snorted. "Can you blame me?" That _thank you_ tasted like acid now.

Caitlin broke the short, tense silence that followed. "It's not just an extra precaution for _us_." She turned her own monitor, and not just Savitar, but the other two men in the room swiveled to see it.

Displayed on Caitlin's screen was a record of Savitar's current weight, mass, and general atom count. She had been tracking his actual existence, and the timer stuck at 0:00:00 told him it had been that way all night long. Savitar honed in on the timer, trying to process this information—Snow had taken it upon herself to actually read any warning signs that the Cuff might be failing, even as he slept. Had it malfunctioned, her indicators would've given them a chance at fixing the problem before the paradox hit.

Apparently this was news to her buddies.

Cisco's chair rolled nearer to the screen. "You're even tracking cells," he realized, impressed.

"Is this what you've been putting together all week?" Barry demanded, fist against chin.

Caitlin nodded. "I thought it could come in handy." Almost as if she were approaching wildlife, she turned ever so sightly to meet Savitar's gaze.

The corners of her mouth were further pressed than usual, even in smiling. Her hands were neatly, casually laid in her lap. Caitlin was feeling pretty good about herself, and her steady posture told him she was waiting for a reaction.

Savitar dipped his head to her, suddenly unable to look at her straight on. He refused to say _thank you_ again, fool him once. But to his surprise—a rare feeling—she mimicked his duck. It was such a familiar gesture between the two of them, it was as if part of his heart hadn't been beating since 2024, and she'd just given it a jumpstart. A thank-you without audio, across the room. Something Barry and Caitlin did often, something Savitar recalled doing with her but had never actually done. For a moment he wondered if he'd imagined it, it felt so good.

A jumpstart. He still _had_ a heartbeat. Suddenly faced with his new life, Savitar felt as if he were looking down a very dark tunnel with no guarantee there wasn't a dead end.

He posed the question to Barry for the second time. "How's this gonna work?" He raised his eyebrows to Cisco, then Caitlin. "Should I get a job somewhere, carry my own weight? I won't exactly make sense over at the CCPD. Think of what the _chief_ would do if there were _two_ Allens to screw up." Barry did not look amused, so Savitar dropped the examples and asked point-blank, "What am I supposed to do now?"

Barry waited a moment before responding. "Iris and I were talking about that last night," he said, which did not make his doppelganger feel at all reassured. It just as if Mom and Dad had been discussing what on earth they were going to do with Junior. He turned to Cisco. "We need to find out if there's an Earth missing its own Barry Allen."

* * *

Caitlin's earliest memory of a really scientific idea was a kind of portable copy machine. At eleven years old, she'd walked right up to the teacher at the end of class and told her all about this remote she'd imagined that could copy any one place, right down to the tiniest details. She'd fantasized replicating a whole aquarium, just so she could take her time reading each fish's description, no other kids on their field trips around to interrupt her. She could have copied a grocery store and eaten all her favorite things, she could've copied the perfect forever-home.

That was how she saw the other Earths in the were copies, zapped by the remote her 5th grade self had dreamed up. But they were also coloring pages, in a way—they could all have the same outline, but the details, once colored by different pairs of hands, would make each picture independent of the others. The details on the other Earths were never the same as the ones on their own.

Barry was off on a mission, Kid Flash at his side. Nothing too dangerous; a robbery down at the jeweler's by the waterfront. Caitlin watched Cisco hooking his Vibe goggles up to the laptop, scanning and scanning the multiverses. She knew he was exhausted—one too many all-nighters for the sake of a former enemy—and her fondness for her friend grew even deeper, watching him put his all into doing the right thing, despite what he'd suffered for Savitar. Even sleep-deprived and grieving, Cisco was still one of the team's most prominent heroes.

Sometimes he would grace her with a commentary, as they sat there working.

"Ooh—nuh uh. This Barry's a cop, like an actual cop. In line for a promotion, that's dope."

"Look at this one's hair, Caitlin!"

"Aw, got one married to Patty. Still a forensic scientist, though. Nice tux."

"Heyyy, CEO of S.T.A.R. Labs, what! That's my boy!"

"No way. This Barry found a cure for Ebola. This essay is unbelievable, where did he come up with the tech for this stuff? Caitlin, read this."

Caitlin did lean over a few times to study these different Barrys. They may be leading vastly contrasting lives, but the kind green eyes and helpful grin was always the same. She couldn't help smiling back, just a little, at a few of the happy little photos. After about an hour of research without any luck, Iris, Wally, and Joe had joined them, bringing tidings of great java from Jitters. Caitlin noticed that there was more than one Mocha Flash in the bunch, not anyone's usual, and a pang of homesickness for H.R. stabbed her again.

"This is way too many Barry Allens," Joe finally announced, following another 45 minutes of searching. They all made noises of assent, but no one tore away from the monitors.

"Can you look up other Wallys with this thing?" Wally demanded, grinning. "Or...Joes? Or Jesses?"

Cisco glanced at him dubiously out of the tops of his eyes. "Down, boy."

"You know what I'm realizing?" Iris said, dabbing the coffee from her upper lip with a napkin, beaming at the screen. "All of these different versions of him—I mean, they might not be the _Flash_ , but...they've all dedicated their lives to doing good. To helping people somehow."

The warmth Caitlin felt there, surrounded by her friends, laughing and talking over various interpretations of their favorite speedster, grew at Iris' words. She offered the other woman a small shrug. "That's what he does."

"Hold up." Cisco interrupted them, rubbing his yes. "Look at this." He pointed to the screen, underlining sentences as he read aloud. "Earth-66. This is a news article from March 14th, 1989."

Joe squinted, peering over Cisco's shoulder. "' _Nora Allen dies in childbirth_ '..."

"Oh my god," Iris murmured behind a hand, staring at the words as if she were reading a different language.

Caitlin hadn't known Barry's mother, but she could tell from Joe and Iris' expressions that what they were looking at was shaking them. She knew the feeling. Even if you were completely aware that what happened on another Earth was a separate event from your own, it still felt personal. Like watching Zoom stab Killer Frost with her own ice dagger. Caitlin had nightmares regularly of meeting the same fate.

"Henry tried to save her," Joe was summarizing in a hushed tone. He shadowed his eyes with a hand, though the light in the room and from the screen was set for optimal reading conditions.

"' _Beloved local doctor Henry Allen lost a promising family future in last night's tragic accident_ ,'" Iris read. " _At approximately 10:55 PM, Nora Allen began to show signs of..._ '" She scanned the rest silently, and Caitlin wondered if she were imagining being in that room with Barry's distraught father and dying mother. "He couldn't save Barry either."

Caitlin felt her stomach flip over. They had found what they'd been looking for. It was an ugly result, but they had found it. She scrolled the article down with a finger, almost illogically afraid to touch the screen, as if she were touching the alternate Henry's memories, soiling them. "According to this, this Earth's Barry was stillborn."

Wally exhaled with his mouth in an _O_ , folding his arms behind his head. "That's it, right? This is the Earth where we dump Savitar?" He sounded fragile, like glass, gazing at the photo of Nora Allen's grave. Iris gave him a cutting look; no doubt she figured he was being insensitive.

"That's sweet, Wally." Savitar had joined them. "Don't tell me you're not gonna miss me?"

Caitlin let the others turn to stare first this time. When she did look back at the time remnant, he was fixed on the screen the way they had all been. The difference was that he didn't seem to mind what he was seeing. His face was completely neutral.

Wally was leaning slightly away from the former speed god, right hand gripping the next until his knuckles turned white. It was the only thing that could betray the way his heart must have been slamming against his chest. Caitlin bit the inside of her cheek, giving him a doctor's once-over. She knew from treating Wally's post-battle wounds, from quiet confidence in the early morning hours when he came to exercise his broken, superhuman-healing leg, that Wally was suffering from slight trauma where Savitar was concerned. Being injured by a man with the countenance of his mentor, his big brother, being tricked and trapped in the Speed Force by a face he should've been able to trust, was not something a 22-year-old could just walk off.

"Earth-66, Hot Pocket," Cisco greeted Savitar passively. "Home sweet home."

* * *

It was cold in the pipeline that evening as Caitlin made her rounds through the metahuman prison, serving each their preferred supper. She was even considering donning a jacket if the Cortex turned out to be this chilly. When she had been Killer Frost, she had hardly felt the cold, but Caitlin Snow welcomed the discomfort. It meant she was still in control, still herself.

Heading back upstairs with her cart of Big Belly Burger wrappers and empty takeout boxes, Caitlin was surprised when she turned a corner and nearly rammed the cart into a strolling Savitar.

Savitar's hands moved at a blur, stilling the other end of the cart before it could collide with him. He gave her an impatient look, very similar to the one her father used to give when she interrupted him while he was on the phone.

"What are you doing down here?" Caitlin tried to be polite, tried to keep the suspicion from her voice. It didn't work. Satisfyingly enough, she found she didn't care.

"Releasing all your metahuman prisoners and taking over your base," Savitar replied casually, words crystallized with sarcasm. " _Vive la resistance_."

He tilted his head at her, almost smiling. It would not have been a friendly, teasing smile. His hunched shoulders and tightened grip on the cart announced constant anger.

Caitlin didn't feel like repeating her question. She just stood there, holding the cart, practicing standing her ground against that marred face. When Barry got this way, agitated with her for intoning that he shouldn't take so many risks out on the field, it was best to remain silent because she knew he got the message, he just needed quiet to let its logic sink in. Too much quiet made Barry Allen feel guilty; he almost always followed up any sarcasm or exasperation with apologetic explanations.

She was more than a little stunned when Savitar responded the same way.

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't need to _run_ every time I want a change of scenery," he told her defensively, straightening. "I took a walk. Considering there's over forty security cameras hidden inside the rafters down here, I figured that would be okay with my babysitters upstairs."

Well, almost the same way. Barry didn't explain with so much mouth.

"I guess I was wrong." Savitar conceded, tone clearly conveying that he felt he should've expected her disapproval, and had started walking back toward the exit. "If you need me, I'll be in my nursery."

Caitlin watched him leave, watched Barry's left shoulder swing a little more than the right as the speedster strolled away, listened to him favoring his right leg. Everything about him physically was recognizable. She wondered if he knew at all how similar he still was to the man whose life he'd tried so hard to ruin. She wondered if it would make him even angrier to find out...or if he did know, and wanted someone to see it without curling their lip. She had felt the same way for a while when Cisco and Barry had returned from Earth-2, afraid she'd become Killer Frost at every angle. Couldn't they just see her? She was Caitlin, their Caitlin.

For a moment, remembering that directionless wave that had washed over her when her friends looked at her, too nervous to notice her hair wasn't white and her lips weren't blue, Caitlin understood Savitar. Just for a second. Watching him turn the corner, out of sight, he didn't look quite so frightening in that heartbeat. He looked like Barry—and if there was one thing Caitlin knew, it was that Barry was not to feel alone if she was in the building. It was terrible for his health.

She left the cart where it was and hurried in her closed-toe doctor's shoes—much better for running than heels—around the corner, catching up to him in the most dignified way possible. It was only slightly humiliating that even when he was walking, both Barry and Savitar were much faster than she was, super speed or not.

"Is the cerebellum inhibitor giving you any trouble?" When she didn't know what to say, science always had her back.

Savitar did not turn around and did not slow his pace. For all she knew, he had been aware she was behind him from the moment she left the cart. "Nope. Works great."

Clipped words said, _don't talk to me, mortal_. Caitlin had lived with Harry for a year or so. It didn't faze her.

"Listen," Caitlin began, trying to pretend it was just Barry, she was talking to Barry, and Barry was always ready to listen to her when he was down. "I know it's not easy, coming back here after everything that's happened." _Even if, admittedly, the majority of it is your own fault._ "Living on a different Earth isn't the ideal solution, but...it _is_ the best option. Anything else would involve way too many hurdles to jump—for you, and for the rest of us."

Savitar stopped walking, and she ran into his back. He turned around and she narrowly avoided collision with his black-clad shoulder, too. "What do you want?" he demanded, syllables drenched in irritation.

Caitlin sized him up. She couldn't see much Barry in him anymore, suddenly. Cold settled in her chest—her fallback feeling when something was not going the way it was supposed to. Like this conversation. She was so accustomed to Barry responding with equal heat, reaching for her hand to help him back to his feet. Standing there while his face and his body bore down on her—with very little enthusiasm—was not exactly proof of things functioning properly.

Finally she clicked out, "I just—wanted to see if there was anything I—"

Savitar's scoff was wet and antagonized. He rolled his eyes, his neck, his whole head. He held up the arm wearing the Hammond Cuff. "You're gonna weld this thing to my wrist, throw me in some cheap copy of Central City, and close the breach to make sure I stay put." He raised his eyebrows. "But I guess that kind of fits, I mean, I'm still just a _disposable_ Barry Allen, right?" He put up a palm and walked backward, away from her. "Sorry— _not_ Barry Allen. Toss the duplicate Flash into a duplicate world. All your problems are solved. So no, there's nothing you can do, Doctor Snow."

Caitlin's own eyebrows puckered to combat his elevated ones. "We are trying to give you a life. Which is more than you deserve."

It was the standard masculine habit. The angrier he got, the closer he seemed to get physically to the person he was angry with, as if he had to prove he was wider and taller than his opponent. That he could breathe faster. One minute he had been eager to make her rush to keep up with his strides, the next he was inches from her face, and she could see the scars winding above his left eyebrow and giving up on his forehead.

"I didn't _deserve_ to be thrown away from the beginning."

Caitlin didn't break her gaze. _Thrown away_. She knew what Barry had told them, she knew that the future Team Flash hadn't wanted the last time remnant. She knew what Savitar believed of them, but _she_ couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. It just wasn't them. Wasn't the present team proving that? That they were willing to help him? And _this_ Team Flash was dealing with a remnant that had killed their friend and tried to destroy them all. There was just no future in which she could see herself and her family here turning their back on anyone, and certainly not someone who was at least half of Barry Allen.

"We saved your life," Caitlin reminded him icily, and he leaned his head back, exasperated. She went on, determined to make him see that they were no longer against him. "We could have stopped there, but instead we're working together, _for_ you, figuring out how to give you the best chance possible." She let the ice drop out of her voice, trying to find even a spark of her best friend in that single green iris. "Don't you want that chance?"

Savitar slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, silent. He seemed to be lost in thought, eyes on her but not focusing. Like he was searching for something, weighing everything.

Then she saw it. The way his mouth twitched. He pulled a hand free to run it through his hair. It was Barry again, giving in. It made her shoulders relax, suddenly all the tension in her body was gone, because she no longer felt she was standing in front of a stranger blocking out her words. He really was someone she knew, so far beneath the rugged, stinging surface, afraid to access that version. But he was tapping into it now, and it looked good on him.

"Okay," he whispered, looking at the far wall, nodding over and over to himself. He said it again, a little more feeling in the word. "Okay." He let out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bravado was gone. "Say it works," he conceded, more loudly this time. "It works, I go through. What kind of life am I supposed to have? When I can do _this—_ "

He lifted a hand to her, vibrating it so that it was blurred and sputtering. Caitlin eyed it, knowing the damage it could do.

"How does my speed," Savitar continued, "apply to _that_ Earth? Am I supposed to be the Flash again?" The way he said the name, Caitlin would have thought donning the red and yellow was impossible for him.

Caitlin bit her lip. "We'll figure it out."

"Will we?" Savitar grunted.

Caitlin nodded hard, firmly. "Together. We'll be behind you, we will make _sure_ that you're in good hands before we close the breach."

He shook his head, wagging it back and forth, back and forth, slowly, deliberately. "How?"

Caitlin opened her mouth to respond, but the answer just didn't come. They couldn't pull the right life for him out of thin air. _Would_ he be the Flash? Would he find the right job, the right home, have friends? How was he going to explain his scars, his eye, his general disgust with the world around him? Worst of all, would he do the right thing? Left alone to his devices, would he become just another Zoom, terrorizing another Earth? He might not return to heroism. He might just fall back into being the villain of the story. Barry Allen could be both, he was proof of it. Without people that loved him, this was what he became. Savitar didn't have the luxury of growing up on Earth-66; he'd be dropped into it, physically 27, without knowing a soul that could steer him in the right direction. They didn't even have an assurance that he would gravitate toward the light, once they didn't all live in the same place.

Suddenly, she remembered something she'd said to Barry, her Barry, when he had lost his father. " _When this happened to me,_ you _were the one who kept me in check._ "

 _Kept me in check_.

That was what they had always been to one another, a shoulder, a push in the right direction, someone who understood, perfectly safe if they had each other.

That was what Savitar needed.

In a split second, she was reminded of Cisco, glued to his monitor, doing the right thing no matter what it cost him.

Caitlin felt the words rush out of her the moment it hit her. "I'll go with you."

* * *

 **(I want to say that I really, really appreciate the reviews I've gotten, I wouldn't feel like writing this without them. Please keep telling me your thoughts, I read every one of them! Next chapter coming soon. Let's GET CAITLIN IN EARTH-66, y'all. Isn't this taking forever? Thanks again! -Doverstar)**


	5. Chapter 5: Off We Go

**(Your reviews make my heart happy. Keep it coming, I beg of you! -Doverstar)**

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Doctor Caitlin Snow was the most organized, prepared individual you could ever meet. Her apartment never ran out of toilet paper. Her papers were always in order. Her phone was always charged, her physician tools were always on the same table when she came in for work. She was prepared for Cisco's whine when she snuck a fry out of his lunch on her way past his desk. She was prepared when Jitters wasn't able to give her her first choice on the menu, backup drink already on the tip of her tongue. She was prepared when Wally needed help in his science courses. She was prepared with the perfect excuse, the best shut-down facial expressions, when H.R. had danced into the room, trying to get her to sing the next verse in whatever random Earth-1 song had taken his fancy. She was prepared when Ronnie needed to cool down after a long day of engineering. She was prepared to face the worst when a metahuman broke out of the pipeline.

She was not prepared for Barry Allen.

Ever, she was never prepared for Barry Allen. She hadn't been prepared when Dr. Wells rolled in an unconscious, complete stranger on her examination table, someone who had allegedly been struck by lightning. She hadn't been prepared when said stranger had exploded out of said coma, looking at her with his sharp green eyes and heaving for breath. She hadn't been prepared when he insisted she play Operation with him for _mental exercise_ , and doubly unprepared when he lost on purpose and an actual laugh came bubbling out of her at his expression. She hadn't been prepared when he called her Cait, the first time anyone had called her Cait since Ronnie had died and the first and only person she would ever allow it from every day after. She hadn't been prepared when he offered to join her in the pipeline, hadn't been prepared when he'd taken on Captain Cold and Heat Wave to buy her time, when he'd sang at a karaoke bar with her, when he'd challenged Grodd to save her life, when he'd talked her out of Killer Frost's head by proving he knew exactly who she was, when he smiled at her and stood beside her and hugged her and showed her that yes, superheroes still existed. Even after Ronnie, even after Jay, there was happiness and hope and love and he was _her_ hero, her own personal safe place. She got to have him around every day. Not prepared, not prepared, not prepared.

And she was especially unprepared for his reaction.

The color drained from Barry's face when she told him her plan. She hadn't seen him this pale since The Mist. His eyebrows drew together so tightly, eyes squinting so intensely, that she wondered how he could see properly that way. His mouth opened and formed words that wouldn't come out, he was shifting his weight very quickly from leg to leg as he stood in front of her. It was strange, as if he were trapped underground and someone had just taken his only light source, and he was trying not to panic at the thought of taking another step without it.

"Cait," he finally managed, and she felt the world's colors saturate at the nickname as usual, "no."

"Barry, it's the—"

She wasn't prepared to be interrupted, either, but Barry seemed to have been derailed by her news.

"You can't. You can't go with him, there's no way."

They were at his lab at the CCPD; he'd been doing some last-minute filing and Caitlin couldn't think of a better time to tell him. It was raining outside, and she spied a red mug of black coffee on the desk, steaming in the faint light. The papers Barry had been holding were now abandoned on his chair; he was staring down at her as if she were several feet away behind a baseball field net, hard to see.

Caitlin had expected her friend to be surprised, yes, but not _this_ surprised, and not this upset. If anything, she had expected him to realize that this was the right thing to do—a heroic thing to do—and to help her in whatever ways he could. That was as Barry as you could get. But instead she was in a lab with a man who looked like she'd sucker punched the oxygen right out of him.

"It's the smartest route," she explained, leaning back a little, confused by the sudden fear just rippling off of him. "He needs someone to put him on the right track, Barry. Who better to do that than a doctor? Than one of us?" She hesitated, trying to think of the clearest way to communicate what she meant. "He may be—damaged—but you said it yourself. Underneath all that anger and all those mistakes, part of _you_ is in there. I've seen it. And he needs someone who knows that part of him to _guide_ him. Logically it's the safest thing for him. For Earth-66, for everyone."

But Barry was rubbing the heels of his hands into closed eyes before she'd finished, mouth open to reveal teeth that were clenched, but not too violently, not too dramatically. Caitlin was an expert in reading body language, especially Barry's. He _was_ her main patient. And right now, he was very stressed out. It didn't compute. It didn't make sense. Why had he suddenly become frayed?

Barry looked up at her suddenly, palms pressed together and pointed at her. "But I don't—I don't get it, all right?" He stepped closer, the picture of concern. He spoke more slowly, as if trying to calm himself long enough to get his point across. "It's dangerous. It's not smart, it's not even..." He sighed, starting again. "I know that not all Earths have guys like Zoom, or Reverb, but you'd still be going in blind. You don't know what could actually be there—what if it's something like Grodd, and I'm not there to—and even if Earth-66 is missing all of those things, we can't risk sending you in with Savitar. Okay?" Another sigh, shorter, and the words got even slower. "You've seen what he can do, you can't—I mean, if he decides to go off the rails, you're not gonna have any of us there to help you stop him."

Caitlin brightened, she'd been coming to that last bit. "Well, I was thinking there would be a way I could have a connection back to—"

"Cait."

Interrupted _again_?

Barry pinched the bridge of his nose, a mirror of Savitar just an hour earlier in the pipeline. He looked...sad? He looked hurt and fragile, like the day she'd revealed her metahuman powers and he'd stared into her, and she knew he was wondering why he hadn't told him sooner. "What is it? Over there, on _that_ Earth? What's there that you don't already have right here with you?"

And _then_ she understood him.

Caitlin's countenance stuttered, and she burst out, "Barry, do you—you don't think I'm going to _live_ there, do you?"

Barry's sad and hurt were being coated with a thin layer of confusion now. "What?"

She made a few still-befuddled noises before actual sentences took form. "I only meant I'd help him settle _in._ You couldn't possibly think I'd want to stay on another Earth? A completely different _world_? With the man who murdered H.R.?"

Barry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. His eyes seemed to overflow with warmth now, and his entire body relaxed. Finally he collapsed into, "Oh thank god."

"Barry!" Caitlin let out a relieved, nervous chortle at that, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder as he doubled over, cupping both hands over his face. He was chuckling too. "Don't be ridiculous. _This_ Earth is my home. I mean, at the most, I was only planning on staying for a couple of weeks. And I'm not even sure if weeks, plural, is such a good idea." His head came up to grin at her and she rolled her eyes. "Remember, this is Savitar we're discussing."

"I'm sorry." Barry's grin stayed, but he straightened and added seriously, "You can't go until we figure out how to contact you from here."

"I was trying to lead up to that," Caitlin insisted, reaching for his mug. The warm porcelain felt wonderful against her always-cold palms. "See, I think that if Cisco and I could design a communicator—something independent of the walls between universes—I could remain in contact with all of you, and we could _all_ figure out a way to keep Savitar in check." She smiled triumphantly. It was always satisfying to work out an idea aloud, knowing it had the capacity to succeed. "I would just be there as a warm body."

Barry's hands were on his hips, he was nodding, looking at the ground as if picturing her plan. "That might work. And, to be honest..." His eyes met hers eagerly. "I can't think of anyone better to keep my _evil doppelganger_ on the straight and narrow."

Caitlin was never good at accepting compliments, and Barry's made her own eyes bounce to the floor. "I suppose you would know."

"Cait."

"Mm?" She glanced up expectantly, all ears.

Barry nodded to her hands. "You do know that's mine."

Caitlin's gaze went to her reflection in his coffee. Oh, did this bother him? She blinked at him innocently from the top of her eyes. "It's cold and wet out."

He was trying not to smile. "I haven't even touched it!"

"I haven't had coffee since 3 AM this morning."

"But it's mine."

"I'm freezing," Caitlin complained, giving him her best pleading look. "Because of your increased muscle exercise since becoming the Flash, your body is constantly generating the exact amount of heat it needs to be comfortable, despite any temperature fluxes outside."

"Caitlin."

"And that includes fall thunderstorms!"

"Doctor Snow, I want my coffee."

She pointed at him sternly. " _My_ metahuman properties produce the antithesis, therefore I need twice the amount of heat, twice the clothing, and twice the coffee." With that, Caitlin took a lengthy sip, watching the Flash without wavering. She licked her lips when she'd finished, setting the mug down.

Barry shook his head at her, unable to keep from grinning again. "Unbelievable."

Caitlin grinned back. She was never happier, safer, or more content in general than when she was with Barry Allen. From cocky stranger in and out of her workplace to her best friend—besides Cisco, of course. She couldn't have sipped from just anyone's coffee.

Barry went to stand beside her, leaning against the desk the way she was, the mug between them. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he said, a little more seriously, "Just make sure you come back to us in one piece, okay?"

Caitlin nodded. No words necessary.

Barry wasn't finished, eyes tracing her smile. "I need you, Cait. I need you here. Okay? Promise me you're coming back home."

There are few things in this world that feel better than being told you are needed. That without you, someone's life would not be quite the way they wanted it to be. No one could hear such a thing and feel negative toward it, it was just something you longed for. Caitlin was no exception, and hearing it from Barry cemented it in her mind.

"I promise."

Barry gave her one of those bear hugs only he could give. Caitlin had discovered earlier in life that Henry Allen could hug almost the same way, but that Barry's were tighter. Barry Allen seemed reluctant to let go of the people close enough to hug, reluctant to let go of anyone he loved. He wouldn't be the same person without them—and they had seen that in the flesh, flesh currently residing in the basement of S.T.A.R. Labs with a frequency equalizer strapped to his wrist. That was why she had to go, just for a short, short time. She had to help Savitar, remind him that he did not have to be alone, that he could be what he'd been so long ago.

As they broke apart, Barry poked the silence by saying, "Okay but that is my coffee."

"Oh, this coffee?"

"For real right now?"

* * *

The rest of Team Flash was not quite as easy to convince. Maybe it was because none of them were Barry, so they didn't see that Caitlin was the perfect person to lead Savitar into his new life. Maybe it was because none of them were Caitlin, who had seen a glimmer of the person Savitar could still be and was determined to give him the chance to choose what was right. Or maybe it was just because Savitar was looking particularly smug and brooding as they gathered in the S.T.A.R. Labs basement two days later, preparing to send him off.

Caitlin had waited until just before they were ready to open the breach. When she announced that she would be going with the God of Speed, Joe was the first to respond, albeit after a stunned silence.

"You gotta be kidding me."

So Caitlin had launched into her explanation, the same one she'd given Barry, who was by her side through the entire lecture, carrying her two enormous duffel bags. The team had all let her say her piece, of course, but the moment she was finished, the protests and questions shot toward her like bullets.

"Where are you gonna stay?" Joe demanded, pointing from Caitlin to Savitar with a father's warning tone. "With him?"

Caitlin took a deep breath. "Barry and I looked into it yesterday, and...we found out that there's a S.T.A.R. Labs on Earth-66 too."

"So, what, you're just gonna crash with your doppelgänger for a couple weeks? Braid each other's hair, swap science theories?" Cisco scoffed. Though he had been told before the others, he seemed uncomfortable with the details himself. "'So where you from, other Caitlin?' 'Oh, Earth-1, they got great burgers, you'd love it!' I bet that's gonna be a real fun conversation to have."

"Actually, Cisco," Caitlin cleared her throat, eyes on her shoes. "Earth-66 Caitlin Snow is dead too."

"Convenient," Savitar interrupted, voice higher than usual. He didn't seem swayed by the information.

"It is," Caitlin agreed, trying to remain patient. "Everyone employed at S.T.A.R. Labs on that world has been dead for the last four years." She glanced at Cisco. "Ever since—"

"Their particle accelerator exploded," Cisco finished, closing his eyes for a moment. "Which means there's no Cisco Ramon either. Or Ronnie. Or Wells."

"Or an Iris West," Caitlin added, carefully studying their Iris.

When Joe opened his mouth, stepping forward, Barry stopped him from asking by recounting, "She was a cop. Just like Earth-2's Iris West. She was stationed as security the night the accelerator failed."

"So," Wally interjected, "you're saying this Earth is basically a dump?"

"For real," Cisco agreed. His right hand clung to his Vibe goggles, careful not to smudge the glass. He held up a finger on the other for each absent party as he rattled off: "No Barry, no Cisco, no Caitlin or Iris..."

"Is there a Wally?"

" _Down_ , boy."

"So that's it?" Joe's hands rested on his belt. "We're just gonna let you hop into another Earth without any backup?"

Cisco cleared his throat _very_ loudly. "You seriously think I'm gonna send homegirl to another universe without a multidimensional walkie talkie?"

Caitlin pursed her lips as the group's eyes turned on her. She fished into her lab coat pocket, pulling out and showing off Cisco's communication device. It looked like a regular walkie talkie—except, of course, for the lightning bolt signature.

"You should be able to reach me at any time, for any reason, with this." Caitlin smiled at her partner. "Cisco was done with it in an hour."

Cisco smiled back, but it looked a little forced.

Iris' arms were folded. She was looking at Savitar, who was point-blank staring at the far wall. "I guess what I'm wondering is—why Caitlin?"

Caitlin exchanged a glance with Barry. But before either of them could say anything, Savitar declared bluntly from the corner, "Because she offered."

They all glowered at him, clearly not finished with their interrogation. But he hiked up his own bag over one shoulder and approached the center of the room, indifferent to the many pairs of eyes following him with undisguised mistrust.

"I don't know about all of you, but I'm getting kinda hungry. And since we have to go through the breach _before_ I get to eat, can we just speed this thing up a little? Team _Flash_?"

Cisco scowled at him. "Oh. Of course. Yeah, man, lemme just do that—oh, wait." He pulled his goggles over his head, letting them hang around his neck. "I just remembered there's a lifelong friend I could potentially never see again should something go wrong in our little world-hopping endeavor! I'll be a minute, do you mind?"

Cisco took his time approaching Caitlin, passing Savitar with deliberately raised eyebrows. When he reached her, his animosity evaporated, and he wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was afraid her ribcage might be bruised.

"If you don't come back, I get your lab, okay?" He said into her hair.

Caitlin laughed. "If I don't come back, I want you to find my body and _bury_ me in that lab, Cisco."

"Yes ma'am."

Joe's hug lifted her off her feet. When he set her down, he lowered his voice, running through a list of defensive maneuvers and strategies should Savitar go rogue. "If anything— _anything_ goes wrong over there, you call us. You got it?"

"Roger." Caitlin bit her lip. "Sorry. Do the police still stay that? Ten-four. Good to go." She even offered a ginger salute. Joe was chuckling before she had paused for breath.

Wally's smile was wide. His hug didn't quite lift her off the ground, but he squeezed the way his big brother did. "Don't stay away too long. Who's gonna nag me to do my exercises?"

Caitlin patted his shoulder, just once. "I'll get Cisco on it. Besides, your leg is almost fully healed. You've been patient."

The future Mrs. West-Allen smelled like chocolate and throw pillows. "We're gonna miss you. Don't forget about us, Caitlin." Iris only had two real requests. "Take lots of pictures. You never know, their city might be nicer than this one." She glanced over her shoulder at the man in black, his back to her. "And take care of him."

Caitlin nodded, following Iris' gaze. She got the feeling Iris could see a little more than just a broken copy, too. _Take care of him._ At last, a pulse of fear gave her a slight headache. Who would take care of _her_?

Of course, Barry couldn't let her go without one more tight embrace. His was longest out of everyone's, and in those three minutes he held her, Caitlin had her answer, and the worry drained out of her. How could she be afraid? She still had her own personal superhero.

"I'm right here, okay?" Barry murmured in her ear. He was practically crushing her lungs. "You're not in this alone. We're all here for you, one call away." He held up the walkie talkie to match hers, finally pulling out. His other hand squeezed left one. "Don't forget your promise, Doctor Snow."

"I'll be home before you know it, Mr. Allen."

As Barry moved to give Cisco room to open a breach, Caitlin saw Savitar watching her out of the corner of her eye. She held her head high, trying to remain composed. It wouldn't be forever. It was just a few weeks. Already she was missing them, missing the heat they provided, and they were still all in the same room with her.

A blinding blue light filled the basement, and a whirl of clouds and energy opened from thin air. Cisco's goggles were on, his brow beaded with sweat.

"Savitar," Barry called suddenly.

Savitar turned gingerly, as if moving too quickly hurt. "Flash."

Barry's expression was a new kind of knowing, something deep Caitlin had never seen on him before and couldn't identify. She got the feeling Savitar would understand exactly what it was, though. "Don't screw it up."

Inspirational speeches were something Barry seemed to have perfected over time, so _don't screw it up_ was not what Caitlin had been expecting. But it fit. He was still always surprising her.

Savitar did not lash out with some sarcastic retort. He didn't make any condescending faces. Instead, he nodded, once, and entered the portal.

For a moment, Caitlin didn't know if she could do it. She almost convinced herself she couldn't, in those two steps toward the light. How could she leave them? Even for a few weeks? Even for a few hours? They were all she had.

A look over her shoulder calmed her. Barry was looking back, and he lifted a hand to her.

Caitlin raised her own right hand, waving back, trying to remain composed before the jump.

She stepped through, and everything went white.

* * *

 **(Short, I know, but it's late and this fanfic is me yanking myself out of a year of no writing. Backwards. Bear with me. And remember, reviews are what keep me writing! [That's not a demand or a threat, just a kinda pathetic request.] Okay, she's finally in Earth-66. Man, that took forever. Now the fluff and the pain and the fun can begin! Next chapter coming soon! -Doverstar)**


	6. Chapter 6: Out Of Touch

**(Follows and favorites are nice, but reviews really cook my rice. Also, you guys are delightful and I love reading your comments. Oh Jell-O Squares, get ready, this chapter is [hopefully] going to be fun to read. Hopefully. -Doverstar)**

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Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs was completely abandoned.

It had all the tech. It had all the space. It even had a few new rooms. What it was missing was people. Caitlin walked through the glass double doors, instantly thinking that this must be what it felt like when people swore their houses were haunted. She could've been a ghost herself. Leaves were strewn everywhere; cobwebs stretched across the welcome center's main desk, the rafters, the monitors. And the corridors leading to the Cortex were no better. The entire building smelled acrid, as if someone had dunked a rag in gasoline and wiped down every surface. Outside, they had noticed that unlike on their Earth, where just one of the towers was charred and dysfunctional, Earth-66's version omitted all three, only blackened stumps in their places.

Savitar hadn't said much to her since they arrived. Caitlin had laid out the plan for him in her typical all-business fashion: Get to S.T.A.R. Labs, settle in, and figure out the details of his new home—whether there was a fitting job for him close to the Labs, maybe a way to disguise his scars in order to avoid questions, and most importantly, whether this world needed the Flash.

Savitar did not seem concerned with any of it. He barely made a single comment; she couldn't tell whether he agreed with her ideas or not. Instead, the moment they entered the musty Cortex, he dropped his bag right on the floor, sped away and returned a second later with a bag of fried food. It was nice to see he hadn't just been antagonistic back on Earth-1; he really meant it when he said he was hungry.

When Caitlin gave him a look that told him with pinched eyebrows and pursed lips that the sight was surreal, Savitar said, as though _she_ were the weird one, "I eat," and began unwrapping his burger.

Caitlin watched him chewing at hyper speed, and the first thought that came to her mind popped out of her mouth without her consent. "Did you... _pay_...for that?"

Savitar sat down in one of the chairs by the desk, propping his feet up. "Would you believe me if I said I did?"

Caitlin raised her eyebrows, showing her palms. "Just asking."

There was only the sound of rustling paper as Savitar finished off his lunch in the space of two minutes. Caitlin walked around the Cortex, switching the emergency lights on and running a finger over her old examination table, making a face at the dust it collected.

"Everything seems to be in working condition," she announced after a few more minutes of turning things on and plugging things in. "The particle accelerator explosion released a wave that was toxic to human life within the machine's surrounding area, but the pipeline where it actually took place is the only part of the building that's really damaged. All of this—the cobwebs, the rust—it's just due to neglect, inactivity. One of the monitors where the suit should be is cracked. And more than one lightbulb needs changing..."

Savitar crossed his arms. "So, what? Should I grab a mop?"

Caitlin glanced over at him, curls swinging, distractedly saying as she waited for her usual screen to boot up, "If you want. There's bound to be some kind of health violation—" and then she remembered who she was talking to. Savitar was looking at her with the expression Barry used when she babbled on about the technical flaws in the punchline of a joke. It was an expression that said, _stop embarassing yourself_. "Oh. You were being sarcastic, weren't you?"

Savitar stood, and instead of answering her he clapped his hands together. "Not that this isn't a _very_ exciting step in our little journey," he said, sighing, "but all that food gave me the urge to go for a nice run. When you come up with something relevant for me to do with the rest of my existence, you let me know. I'm not going anywhere." He headed for the entryway. "Nowhere far, anyway."

"Wait, you need—"

 _FSHHH!_

And he was gone. Spitting the hair out of her mouth in his wake, Caitlin huffed. "Comms," she finished dejectedly, staring at the exit after him.

With nothing left to do, she started cleaning.

* * *

Wind rushed past Savitar's face. The Speed Force churned and flashed behind his vision. Earth-66 became a blob around him, and he closed his eyes as he ran, sensing objects around him, avoiding collision with anything or anyone. No one could see him. Nothing could touch him. He was too fast. This Earth's air was sweeter than Earth-1's, but the smells and the colors were the same.

Not a full month ago, he had wanted to be a god. He was _determined_ to be a god. _Gods feel no pain_. He wouldn't have to suffer through the memories of everyone he loved—everyone Barry Allen loved—rejecting him. Not if he was ruler of time. Not if he was a god.

But they had proved him wrong. Not 2024's Team Flash, no, _they_ had still abandoned him. The present's Team Flash. The one that had saved him. He looked down at the Hammond Cuff as he ran, knowing exactly where Ramon's lightning bolt signature was carved against his wrist.

He had wanted to be a god, to be worshipped, so that he wasn't alone. Because they had _made_ him alone. Broken. Joe, Wally, Cisco, Barry Allen.

But now they had flipped everything he'd believed on its head. He had tried to wreck them all, make them feel what he had felt for an eternity at their hands. And in spite of what he'd done, they had helped him? Didn't that make him wrong? Wasn't he wrong? Because by saving him, they proved that they were not going to forget him, the way their future selves had. They proved he wasn't alone, not _exactly_.

So he didn't need to become a god.

Barry Allen, the original, had told him, "You can have all that again."

Friends, a family.

He could have it all again if he was willing. And he wanted it, he _wanted_ it. The part of him, the remnant part, the part that lingered, before the rejection. The part that was still trying to be Barry. It was aching and screaming for the life he remembered. That was why he had agreed to come to Earth-66. That was why he couldn't speak when Barry had told him not to screw it up. There was nothing he could say. He couldn't make any promises, because he didn't know what he was supposed to be now. But he wanted to try something, anything.

The bitterness was not gone. It saturated his tone and the way he moved, he couldn't get it out of his bloodstream. Not yet. Still recalled every detail of the day they had shunned him. He couldn't forget it.

But the pain didn't have to last. And here, in another world, he didn't have to see them every day. He didn't have to see Iris with _him_ , with the original. He didn't have to see Cisco, Wally, Joe. He was free of reminders. He was supposed to be starting over.

Anger stabbed him. Starting over. Here? They wanted him to do...what next? Become the Flash, fight a few metas, try being a forensic scientist again? With the face he wore, the scars inside and out? It wasn't that easy.

That was probably why Snow had volunteered to join him. Help him _settle_. He knew her, he knew her so well—the doctor, the healer, she wanted to fix everything. She thought he could be Barry Allen, she thought he was just like Barry Allen. She thought it was closer to his surface than it was.

She was wrong.

She didn't know him. She wanted Barry—wanted him to _be_ Barry. Not enough to treat him with equal familiarity, not even enough to treat him with the respect she gave the original. To her, he was surely just the copy of a salve she was desperately fond of, but someone had botched the recipe. Head high, hands steady, she took it upon her professional self to study his ingredients, trash his flawed formula and start him from scratch.

The things he had seen, the things he had _been_...you couldn't simply reverse that. Doctor Snow would be in for a surprise.

His thoughts were interrupted as a sudden wave of high temperature claimed the area he was speeding by.

 _BOOM!_

A deafening explosion.

Savitar leapt through the air, momentum carrying him at least twenty yards farther than it should have. He was avoiding a splash of fire lashing out in his direction.

He raised his eyebrows, transfixed, as an entire skyscraper became engulfed in flames.

* * *

Caitlin was wiping off the demonstration board when Savitar returned. When she'd begun, she was stunned to see that they were an exact replica of the calculations the original S.T.A.R. Labs staff had left up—in celebration of their success—before the particle accelerator exploded on Earth-1. It even had Cisco's energetic, sloppy handwriting in the corner in red— _S.T.A.R. Labs forever!_ Caitlin had cleared this phrase off last, feeling the room grow even colder as she realized that the Cisco that had written this triumphant phrase was dead. Wally had been right. This Earth was left wanting.

With the typical blast of air and a few scattered leaves fluttering in, Savitar interrupted her.

Caitlin whirled around, trying her best not to look like he'd caught her off guard. "You're—" She broke off, squinting. Savitar was covered in sweat. He smelled like smoke. "I-Is that...soot?" She pointed to his hands, his nose.

Savitar brushed a thumb across the bridge of his nose, rubbing it against a finger and glancing down at it. He flopped an arm out and let it slap against his side. "Looks like it to me."

"Why are you covered in soot?" Caitlin cautiously moved closer to inspect him, but Savitar turned his back to her.

"I found out your Earth isn't the only one holding metas," Savitar grunted.

Caitlin felt her heart drop for a moment, but she counted to ten inwardly. This was not something she wasn't fully prepared for. In fact, this was good. This was very good. If Savitar was to put his speed to good use, containing metahumans was the perfect outlet; they had learned that with Barry. This meant, more than ever, that every Earth could indeed use the Flash.

"What happened?" She reached for the bucket of tap water she'd been using to clear the demonstration board, soaking a fresh sheet of paper towel in it.

Savitar exhaled, sounding very impatient. "Mick Rory happened."

The rag in her hand slipped in surprise; she squeezed it out and offered it to him. "Heat Wave?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we used to call him?" He stared at the paper towel she was holding out for a moment, as if it might be soaked in vinegar rather than water. Finally he took it. "I forgot how young and cute we were." He began clearing off his hands first, which Caitlin found counterproductive as it meant there wouldn't be any clean portions of the rag once he started on his face. But she wasn't about to tell him that. "Yeah," he let out a chortle that spoke to his opinion of Heat Wave. "He was uh...he was _playing_ with one of the buildings downtown."

"He blew up a _building_? Where is he?" Caitlin demanded. "Did you double-check the perimeter for stragglers? Why didn't you let me set up the comms—"

"Stop— _stop_." Savitar spoke at the tail of her babbling, loudly, drowning out her panic. When she was finally quiet, he paused in his washing and scoffed, "What are you talking about?"

Caitlin blinked. Twice, very quickly. Her head reared. "The people. The civilians, didn't you clear them out first?"

"First."

"Before you went after Rory."

Silence. He just stood there. He didn't look confused, he didn't ask for more of an explanation, he just _stood_ there with a hollow, sleepier version of Barry's poker face.

"Oh god." Caitlin struggled to keep her voice steady. "Please tell me you got everyone out safely."

Savitar turned and began walking lazily up the dais to the workspace on the right of the entrance, glass walls distorting her view of him. He was examining the tech.

His careless gait turned Caitlin's innards to crystal. She could practically see her own breath as a cloud in front of her, stomach turning over at the ice cold fury that overwhelmed her.

"You didn't help them." She didn't know why she was so shocked. But she knew why she was fighting a lump in her throat—she was looking at someone who wore the body of a man who embodied her definition of safety, and all the people in that building had burned while he looked the other way. The lump was for _them_. "You saw people _suffering_ , in _danger_ , and you ran away!"

"Wait a minute, aren't you always the one telling Barry not to rush in?" Savitar turned around, head jerking back, mouth pulled down in the perfect picture of confusion. But she saw it was as sincere as styrofoam fruit.

She couldn't speak. The smell of smoke he'd brought with him made her want to vomit. After a moment, she thought she said something like, "They needed your help!" but the roaring in her ears was too loud.

"But Caitlin," he said, cocking his head at her. "It wasn't _safe_." He spread his arms, a horizontal shrug. "I had to go."

Caitlin didn't remember taking off her necklace. She heard it clatter to the dusty metal ground, felt the blizzard surge up her arms. Before she could take her next breath, she was blasting subzero air in his direction.

The force of it slammed the speedster into the computer resting on the table in that station. She heard the glass fold in on itself, watched him pick himself up. The world grew sharper suddenly and she knew her pupils had gone dangerously white.

He stood up, but she had already reached him, bunching the color of his stupid black shirt in her hand and pressing him against the back wall. An ice dagger formed in her right hand.

What stopped her was the smile.

He was _smiling._ He was grinning Barry's big, infectious grin, but this was different. It was the scariest thing she had ever seen. There was malice in the very _shape_ of it.

"Welcome back, Killer Frost," he breathed.

 _Killer Frost._ "No." Caitlin's icicle fell from her hand shattering to the floor. Echoes of her voice ran up and down the room as she forced the word out again, "No—"

Eyes on his grin, Caitlin felt herself regain control. She shoved the rage down, pushing as hard as she could, staggering backward and retrieving her necklace from the main floor. She couldn't. She couldn't do it again. Fastening her lifeline around her neck, the cold in her fingertips and her lungs died out. Heat pulsed through her. The world became closer, everything was thicker beneath her.

Savitar was standing where she'd left him. She was not at all displeased to see that his hand was bleeding, probably from the collision with the monitor, red oozing between finger and thumb.

Caitlin met his gaze, struggling to breathe.

Savitar turned his head slightly to the left, but his one functioning eye remained on her. "What made you think Rory was _my_ problem, anyway? I didn't think we came here to give Team Flash a sequel."

He wasn't addressing her transformation. He had barely changed his tone. She felt bile rise in her throat as she looked at him. She didn't know how much longer she could keep it up, standing there.

"You're sick," she spat out. She couldn't think of anything else.

"Guilty." Savitar bowed to her. "Is this you saying you didn't bring me my meds? _Doctor_?"

Barry's voice. Barry's eyes, Barry's bleeding hand. But no one had ever looked less like him in that moment.

When she didn't respond, Savitar stepped amiably over to the nearest keyboard, tapping a few times with one finger, something she couldn't see from where she stood. A moment later, one of the monitors mounted near the north wall flickered to life, fuzzy, out-of-practice speakers stuttering sound through the room.

On the screen, the remnant of a skyscraper, churning smoke into the air, could be seen. A frozen autumn sky was deep blue, in stark contrast to the cloud of black trying to blot it out.

" _...just joining us, this is Sandra Peterson, reporting live from downtown Central City. I'm here outside the city's largest residential structure, just a block or so away from Englewood, where it seems a freak explosion has claimed the building. Central City's fire department responded not ten minutes later, pulling in to contain the flames—only to find that the fire had gone out, seemingly on its own. Police and ambulance are still searching for casualties, but Chief John Diggle has reported that there was not a soul in the area when they arrived..._ "

Caitlin felt all the air she'd managed to gulp in leave her abruptly. The world spun for a second; a glove of pure relief slid over her entire body.

Eyes glued to the screen, Caitlin spluttered, "You—you—"

She turned to gawk at him. Savitar was still bent over the keyboard, but he too was fixed to the news report. Completely emotionless. The malice was gone, the grin was gone.

"You did save them." Caitlin whispered it. Her hand went to her snowflake pendant, clutching it as if it were an inhaler. "You stopped the fire."

No response.

"But..." Her breathing picked up again; the anger was back. "Then—why did you—"

"I wanted to see if you'd do it." Savitar's shoulders bobbed, rising exaggeratedly high, nearly touching his jawline. A small smile, the smile his duplicate wore when something was giving him boyish delight, appeared slowly. His nose even scrunched up. "I wanted to see you take it off." He held a finger and thumb—the ones covered in blood—a millimeter apart. "Just for a li'l bit."

Caitlin could not wrap her mind around him. She could hardly believe she wasn't dreaming just then. Everything, every detail of what had happened in that last fifteen minutes did not make sense to her. She just looked at him, feeling the crease of horror in every muscle of her face.

"What you just did..." She sucked in. "I was right. You _are_ sick." She made her way to the exit—she had to lie down. She had to get away from him.

"Disappointed?" Savitar called, and she heard a rumble of satisfaction in the word.

Caitlin paused. "No," she told him. "I'd only be disappointed if I expected something better."

She didn't see it, but his grip on the edge of the screen's frame tightened considerably, turning his knuckles white.

"You are trying so hard not to be Barry Allen," Caitlin began, swallowing, "that you've forgotten what it means to be the Flash."

She turned out the lights before she left.

* * *

 **(Ayyy, all first days in a new town are rough. I can't wait to see you in the reviews. Next chapter coming soon! -Doverstar)**


	7. Chapter 7: Ruptured Stein

**(Sorry I didn't update yesterday! You have no idea how tired I was. Don't leave me. And remember: detailed reviews really encourage me to keep going! I love knowing all your thoughts and feelings. Please don't stop! -Doverstar)**

* * *

For a substance so adrenaline-inducing, the smell of coffee was a comforting one. Caitlin was pleased to find that no matter which Earth, which Central City was in question, there was always a CCJitters with its warm colors and warmer beverages. Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs was a suffocating environment. The place that was more home to her than her own apartment back in Earth-1, in _this_ world, the place you were least likely to find her. Suddenly Jitters was safer, more comfortable; she'd even memorized the names of at least two baristas.

She had been on Earth-66 for a week. A full seven days. And every day the chill she felt without her Team Flash family got deeper and deeper. Every day she worked hard at restoring some part of the building she was used to spending all hours in. Every day she searched for work, something for Savitar to do to create a living for himself, without connecting him to his former life. Not that he thanked her for it—but it wasn't as if she'd told him what she was doing.

Barry's time remnant was applying the same tunnel-vision fallback his counterpart often did when things were unclear. He was throwing every waking minute into increasing his speed.

Caitlin didn't know if it was still a bit of a twisted god-complex bleeding through, or if it was the fact that, when it came down to it, all any speedster could ever truly count on was running. The human brain released endorphins when running at certain lengths, endorphins similar to the kind it released when too much alcohol was consumed. Because Savitar was a duplicate of Barry, he inherited the inability to get drunk. He was left without the average person's escape—perhaps running at superhuman speeds was his substitute. Caitlin had never asked Barry about it; she hadn't needed to. Usually Barry ran to help someone. Savitar was only running to help himself.

Heat Wave hadn't been seen or heard from again, not since the day Savitar had preformed his surprise rescue mission. No more metahumans—and Caitlin _had_ confirmed, through extensive research, that Mick Rory's abilities were a side affect of this Earth's particle accelerator explosion and not due to a heat gun—no more incidents, either. At least, not that she knew of. Savitar didn't share what he did on his exploits around and around the city, but she had decided after the skyscraper event that she didn't need to worry about his intentions. Besides...she had him bugged. She had installed comms and one of Cisco's disguised tracker-patches in his jacket the night after he'd taunted her into using her powers. Maybe it had been spite, but tagging him without his consent could only produce good things, of that she was certain. And according to the monitors back in the nearly-refurbished Cortex, he really _hadn't_ been doing anything but running.

They hadn't spoken about the burning building and they hadn't spoken about his random, wicked desire to say _hi_ to Killer Frost for a 'little bit'. Looking back on the encounter, Caitlin could only feel disgust and a fair amount of embarrassment. She should not have been baited so easily into losing control, especially not by him. She should've been more cautious—it was just—again and again— _that_ _face_. Net of scars or not, she could not look at Barry Allen and naturally build a wall around herself. It was too hard, impossible.

The two of them had settled into a daily routine of avoiding one another. Savitar was out blazing around the city before she woke up, and should she venture downtown herself, he would be in his makeshift living quarters when she got back to S.T.A.R. Labs. Out of sight, out of mind. She didn't harbor any theories that he was doing it because he felt guilty—she could _tell_ there wasn't an ounce of guilt in him. Not for what had happened after the whole Heat Wave nonsense, anyway. No, he was probably avoiding her for a very normal, human reason. He did not like her. Not as a friend, not as a guide, not as anything at all. Not even as a person. It radiated off of him when they managed to be in the same room—she was part of Team Flash, and that made her lower than lint in his eyes. Barry's face or not, she was finding it very difficult to scrape any natural, positive emotions regarding _him_ out, either. Especially after what he'd done to try and goad Killer Frost out of hiding.

The best place to deviate from him, to feel warm again, to be at home where she wasn't at home, was Jitters. She sat at a corner table, laptop out, reading up on the differences in this world and the possible jobs Savitar could apply for. There were more than a few roadblocks in this process. Each time she clicked to fill out an application, she couldn't even get past the request for a full name. What should his employers, Earth-66's general population, call him? She reached for the _B_ key and pulled away several times. Caitlin couldn't bring herself to type Barry's name. With every try, all she had to do was picture that grin he'd worn, his little shrug, the blue of his damaged one eye, and she retreated. There was just no way.

She needed a break. Just one little break from searching. Normally Caitlin was content to gorge on her work; for her, to feel productive was to feel full and happy. But today, with everything so unnecessarily difficult around her, she just wanted to read something that didn't have anything to do with fixing someone else's problems.

So of course, she went right to Mind Hacks—a popular science site she'd had bookmarked since its fruition. A little light reading would do wonders for her exhausted mind.

There was a very shrill beeping in her purse, and Caitlin jumped, her mug of hot tea rattling on its saucer. Cisco's walkie talkie did not come with a vibration setting.

Fishing it out, Caitlin accepted the call. She let her thumb rest on the side of the device, where an invisible heat sensor allowed her to transform the walkie talkie into a neat little bluetooth device she could wear like an earring.

A voice crackled out, "Cait?" and the cafe was softer and even more inviting with its addition.

"Barry!" Caitlin breathed, every muscle in her body relaxing. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

"Hey hey, that sounds an awful lot like the best bio-engineer in the multiverse!"

"Oh—hi, Caitlin!"

"Tell her I'm eating a cruller every day. And my leg's almost totally healed!"

Caitlin nearly cried, hearing so many familiar tones at once. Cisco, Iris, Wally. It was as if her heart had just been plugged in, the way you plug in the lights on a Christmas tree.

The smile was evident in Barry's voice. "Sorry. I put you on speaker."

"Believe me, I don't mind," Caitlin mumbled, wishing she'd chosen waterproof mascara this morning. "How is everyone?"

"We're fine," Barry promised. "We're all fine."

"How's it going with the job hunt?" Iris demanded.

In the background, shuffling could be heard as Cisco berated Wally. "Okay I know you speedsters need your calories, but that is one too many donuts."

"Dude, you don't even like the cream-filled ones, chill out—"

"I can literally see you getting wider, and your suit does not come in XL, pal."

Caitlin fought a chortle and answered Iris, "It would be going a lot better if I knew what he _wanted_ to do."

"Haven't you asked him?" Barry seemed surprised.

Caitlin was silent, running her finger along the rim of her mug.

"Are you biting your lower lip right now, because—I can't see it."

Caitlin released her lower lip guiltily. She cleared her throat. "No."

"Cait."

"He wouldn't answer me if I did ask, Barry. I've told you, he's barely _here_ as it is. I know we came here with an adequate amount of funding, but—what's going to happen when that runs out and he still hasn't shown any interest in a _normal_ job?" She let her hand flop down on the table, just as exasperated with this Earth's speedster as she could be with Earth-1's.

Barry's small sigh rattled the audio's foreground and she tried not to wince at the fuzziness assaulting her ear. It wouldn't do to be making faces when the patrons in the cafe couldn't see who you were talking to. Central City— _all_ Central Cities—had enough crazies to go around.

"Keep working on it, okay? We'll brainstorm over here, too, don't worry. If he doesn't want a normal job, then...what about one that's not so normal?" She could practically see Barry pressing an unnecessary hand to his forehead, as if to shield his eyes. In a moment he'd probably let his arm drop back down. Sure enough, she heard the slap of his hand against his jeans, with a much more silent pulse of fuzziness.

"I'm not sure the Flash is the best way to move forward where he's concerned," Caitlin muttered, closing her eyes to the thought. The icy episode from days earlier had her shying away from the pursuit of a Flash on this Earth—she didn't think there was much evidence supporting the heroism in _this_ Barry Allen.

"You said he saved those people from the burning building the other day," Iris reminded her, as if reading her mind.

"Which I still do not believe," Cisco informed them from somewhere else in the room; he was shouting.

"She said there was a news report, everybody got out," Wally argued, not sounding too interested either way.

"And you trust everything you see on TV?"

"I didn't see it."

"Aha!"

"Guys!" Iris cut them both off, talking over them. "Caitlin, all I'm saying is, if he really _did_ save those people, I mean—he didn't _have_ to, did he? But he did it anyway. That's got to mean something. He _could_ be the Flash again if he wanted to."

"And from what you've told me, it sounds like he might want to," Barry added, eager to hand Caitlin the bright side as usual.

"That was before he tried turning me into Killer Frost," Caitlin finally huffed.

Barry was quiet for a moment. In fact, the whole other end was quiet. Caitlin's first instinct the night Savitar had toyed with her was to call Barry. When she'd told him what had happened, he had been furious. She'd had to talk him down; he had speculated opening another breach to confront his double. Trying to retrieve Killer Frost was no small potatoes. Once Caitlin had convinced him that Savitar showed no actual signs of converting her for world domination purposes—just a twisted desire to have her lose control—Barry had relinquished the world-hopping idea. But he remained overly cautious ever since. Cisco was now calling her the same time every night to get an update on Savitar's '' _tude_ ', but Caitlin suspected it might also be to check that she still _sounded_ like Caitlin Snow, and not her wintery counterpart.

"You can come home whenever you want, Cait," Barry was telling her now, voice smooth and gentle. Soothing. "But you're there to give him a chance to do the right thing, right?"

"I'm here to try," Caitlin admitted.

"Then keep trying. I know you, I know you can do it. He doesn't have a lot of other options now, he'll come around."

"And if he steps out of line again, tries any funny business," Cisco added cheerily, "we just pop over, confiscate the Hammond Cuff, and it's bye-bye Pizza Face. Easy."

"Cisco," Caitlin groaned, finger to her temple.

"I'm just saying. My body is ready."

Caitlin shook her head fondly. "Barry, can't you think of anything he could do? Didn't you ever want to be anything other than a forensic scientist?"

"I wanted to be a detective at one point," Barry recalled. Caitlin could hear Iris laughing, but it sounded disjointed, as if she were trying to cover it up. A second later Barry's indignant "Excuse you," could be heard.

"I can't picture you walking around in a suit with a gun like my dad, that's all," Iris was explaining, full of mirth.

"Thank you. Thank you for that."

"And I can't picture Savitar doing the same," Caitlin cut in, sighing. The laughter on the other end died out. "I don't think he'll want _any_ thing to do with Barry Allen's lifestyle. And that includes his more domestic line of work."

"Then don't try to make him Barry Allen," Barry replied. "Try to make him the Flash."

"Barry—he—"

"I know, but—he can't be a god anymore, he doesn't need to. He can't be a rogue. He needs an outlet. And I know for a fact that the best version of me—the version that makes me feel... _whole_...is the one where I'm the Flash. He's gotta want that, somewhere deep in there. You just have to remind him what that feels like. Helping people."

Caitlin glanced around the room, trying to picture Savitar sporting red again. It wasn't easy. "But suppose he just—"

She dropped off, eyes widening. A flash of white hair, a familiar turn of the head.

"Oh my—" She put a finger to her communicator, pressing it further in, making sure they could still hear her as she whispered, "You are not going to believe who I'm seeing right now."

"Who is it?" Cisco's voice was high with excitement. "Caitlin?"

"Mar—Martin Stein," Caitlin hissed.

"For real?"

"He's standing in line not ten feet away from me!"

It was definitely Professor Stein. Smart tweed jacket, polished spectacles, scanning the bake case with scary-intelligent eyes. He had his hands folded behind his back, and when the barista got his attention, he adjusted his glasses and straightened up, clearing his throat and stepping up to order.

"How does he look?" Barry asked.

"Fine," Caitlin replied, surprised. "He looks fine. He's—I think he's ordering a muffin."

"What kind of muffin?"

"Cisco."

"It could be important! Every little detail, guys."

"It's cranberry," Caitlin informed them distractedly. Her mind was whirling. "I think I'm going to talk to him." She was already scooting off of her stool.

"Cisco, pull up everything you can on Earth-66's Martin Stein," Barry ordered.

"Already on it."

As she approached the older gentleman, Caitlin suddenly hesitated, wondering what on earth she was going to say. What excuse did she have for talking to him? For all he knew, she was a complete stranger. She'd done her best to keep a low profile on this Earth, what with her doppelganger being dead here and all, but no one had recognized her yet. It was lucky she was only staying for a few weeks. Would Stein have any connection to S.T.A.R. Labs on Earth-66? She knew from research that her name had been included on a newspaper's list of the dead after the particle accelerator of this world failed, but had he seen it? Best just to introduce herself as Doctor Snow.

"I'm no scientist or anything, but—I get that he's definitely a big name on that Earth." Iris was reading an article aloud to her. " _Renowned for his theories on the principle of causation, having accepted numerous awards for his studies and essays on transmutation, Martin Stein is head of Hudson Industries. His company has been making great strides in the world of science since 1987..._ "

"Basically he's the same brain there as he is here," Barry summarized, his voice slow and distracted as if he too were reading. "The only difference is...that...he turned Hudson University into some kind of ultra-rich research facility."

" _And_ he's not one half of a sick superhero fusion called Firestorm," Cisco sounded as if he were speaking around a donut of his own.

"And that," Barry agreed.

"Man, if you could get him to sign on," Cisco realized, and there was a sound like the rolling back of a chair, "he'd be perfect for Team Flash 66. Which is totally what we're calling it now. I mean, we had Harrison Wells, what's Savitar gonna have? He hasn't made any friends, has he?"

"Not that I know of," Caitlin whispered, eyes still on Stein.

"I knew it. Poor baby's forever alone." Cisco snorted. "Thank the Lord."

"Cisco's right." That was Barry again. "We've had our fair share of Wells' to help us out. Cait, just...I don't know, get on his good side. If we wanna try to rebuild Savitar his own team, he's gonna need a genius backing him up."

"That's if he even wants a team." Cisco coughed. "Sorry, not helping."

Caitlin took a deep breath. "Okay—okay, I'm—I'm a student, I'm a young—no, that won't work..."

"Maybe you...just moved to town?" Iris suggested.

"And you've heard of him. That way you won't even be lying," Wally chimed in.

"We'll toss some references your way," Cisco offered. "I've got a bunch of news articles and essays standing by. Just do what Simon says and you'll be fine."

"I'm going in," Caitlin announced, resuming her approach. She heard Barry snicker at her somber tone and rolled her eyes. She was nervous.

Of course, when she did catch up to him he was turning around with a hot drink and paper to-go bag in his hand, and he nearly collided with her.

"Oh!"

"I beg your pardon, I'm so sorry," Martin Stein blustered, giving her an awkward little nod and trying to move around her.

"No, no—" Caitlin fixed a smile upon her face. "It was my fault, I just—I recognized you from—you're Professor Martin Stein, aren't you?"

"So smooth, so smooth," Cisco praised. Wally was chortling.

Professor Stein blinked more than he needed to, frowning at her. "Yes—yes, that's right. And who might you be?"

"Cai—D-Doctor Snow." Caitlin shook his hand with difficulty; he had to set the coffee down on a nearby table. "I didn't mean to bother you, but I've...I've always wanted to meet you. I'm a very big fan of your work."

Stein's eyes lit up. "My work? In what way?"

"Uhhhh, let's try—transmutation," Cisco ordered. "But don't go from memory, there's no F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M. Project on his Earth."

"Essays," Wally clipped onto the end of Cisco's sentence, and Caitlin could imagine him pointing helpfully at the articles on a monitor.

"Your essays on transmutation," Caitlin stammered. "They are truly inspiring."

"Ah." Stein squinted, looking pleasantly surprised. "I see, well—thank you very much. It is a largely unexplored territory, I admit, but...absolutely fascinating content if one is willing to put in the work."

"Absolutely," agreed Snow.

"If one were to combine two different elements," Stein was monologuing excitedly, "by rewriting certain atoms on a subatomic level—this is all hypothetical, of course...there could be some very promising opportunities to influence the country's fighting forces, the men and women who protect our borders, with a weapon—controlled, obviously, and in the proper hands—that..."

Caitlin nodded, not finding it difficult to look interested; he was speaking her language. Even if she had heard most of it already from the Stein she knew.

"He wrote some stuff on time travel, it looks like." Iris had taken the mic. "Should we go with that too? Do you want me to read it to you?"

"She can't answer you," Cisco admonished.

"Read it." Barry sounded impatient.

"Okay...okay, here's a clipping from an interview," Iris began.

"I agree, completely, yes," Caitlin interrupted Stein. "And your theories on time travel—I mean—" she began repeating what she heard Iris telling her, not surprised to find it sounded very familiar. "That time is a kind of highway...something you could access if you had the right tools..."

"Yes!" Stein had been standing beside a raised table, now he slid easily into a chair and she quickly took the one opposite to it. "Yes, I've been studying this for half my life. I believe that time travel is not only possible—it is the key to so many wonderful possibilities in terms of learning, growing the human race, helping them stretch to new heights—the _knowledge_ man could possess—"

"Preach. Preach it!" Cisco crowed.

"Exactly!" Caitlin found herself getting into the idea, perfectly aware she had experienced the ramifications of time travel and had come out a little worse for wear. "Who knows what we could open ourselves up to if we spent more time on our pasts, our futures..."

"Precisely!" Stein beamed at her. "And I believe the gateway to such a brave new world is _speed_."

Caitlin smiled back. "You know, Professor Stein...I have a feeling you could be right about that."

"What did you say your name was, miss?"

They spent the next hour discussing every scientific probability that came into their heads. Caitlin felt her brain expanding just being in the same room with the sharp, breezy older man. How had she not sat and had coffee with him before? On _her_ Earth? She'd been so focused on separating him from Ronnie when they'd first met, she hadn't realized she could gain a kindred spirit. Now he was one of the Legends, it was too late. But she had today, she had this afternoon, and it was iron sharpening iron. She hadn't felt this enthusiastic about science in a long time; the last three years had been all about helping the Flash. Stein seemed relaxed too, very clearly enjoying himself. This was far easier than she had expected. She would've thought he'd be aloof, very busy, but after a while she began to get the sense that Martin Stein had not had someone to geek out with in ages.

"Get to know him," Barry instructed as she was finishing off her third cup of tea. "Ask some more questions—not about science."

"What, like she's on a date?" Iris chided. Caitlin tried to control her expression.

"That's not right," Wally muttered.

"No, just—be a little warmer, Cait," Barry elaborated. "You're too stiff."

 _Well, excuse me,_ Caitlin wanted to huff. How stiff could she be? She was already happily bouncing theories and facts off of the gentleman. Any warmer and it might look suspicious. This wasn't the Professor Stein she and the rest of the team had grown to love. She had to find the right mixture of friendliness and estrangement. Kind enough to become friends, distant enough to maintain the idea that this really was their first meeting. It was a formula, she could master it.

"As much fun," Caitlin began, setting her mug down, "as we both know the world of science and biology can be, it's nice to get away once in a while. Do you mind my asking what you do on your days off, Professor?"

Stein's cheery demeanor dropped a little, and he stuttered, glancing down at his coffee. "Well, I...I must admit I don't have much of a personal life." He gave an awkward little chuckle. "Mainly I spend...most of my days at the, er, the hospital, really."

Caitlin's stomach turned over. Her heart beat gray for a moment. "The hospital?" she repeated.

Stein fiddled with his cufflinks. "Yes. My wife, I'm afraid, is not, shall we say, long for this world." His tone had become too quiet, too passive.

"Abort," came Cisco's voice, dull and tired all of a sudden. "This might not have been the best idea, guys."

"Let him finish," Barry murmured.

"I'm so sorry," Caitlin whispered.

"Yes, well." Stein's eyes were on the sleeve around his cup. "It's a form of damaged lungs, something the city's best doctors cannot seem to rectify."

"How did it happen?" Caitlin bit her lip. "If...you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all," Stein sighed. "I've had to explain to much of the press and concerned, distant relatives. It's become a kind of script to me. This will be no different." He took another deep breath, but by this time he spoke in a monotone reminiscent to Savitar's. "It was after a meeting with some of my staff. We were discussing whether or not we should take advantage of the rather deserted S.T.A.R. Labs. You may have heard of it, just east of here a bit? Yes, well, I conceded that, given the terrible tragedy of Harrison Wells' beloved particle accelerator's combustion, it would be in poor taste to 'swoop in', if you will, and snatch up a place that had belonged to so many intelligent, promising men and women and their research. Regardless, the meeting ran long and Clarissa—my wife—decided to meet me at one of our favorite little bistros instead of the parking lot. Evidently she managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The bistro was attacked by..."

Stein paused, licking his lips. He looked up at her, probing, and removed his glasses.

"Miss Snow, do you believe in the impossible?"

Caitlin saw green eyes and risked a tiny smile. "Yes I do, Professor Stein."

"To what extent?"

Caitlin opened her mouth, but found she didn't have a response at the ready. Finally she settled for, "I think you'd be surprised."

"Then perhaps you will believe what many others do not in my little story. According to witnesses, according to _Clarissa_ , the last time we spoke—there was a man at the bistro that night. A man responsible for her pain, a man whose actions have her struggling for every breath she now takes." He pounded the table with a weathered finger. There was no eccentric, lovable glint in his eyes here. This was a man suffering and angry. "Authorities will swear by the use of a poison gas bomb, a kind of hidden weapon, but I believe it was that man's doing. And I don't mean by way of tactical props, I mean he _was_ the gas. He literally transformed himself into a cloud of chemicals fatal to the human system."

"The Mist," Caitlin heard Barry breathe in her ear.

"Now, I know it seems illogical, but according to my extensive research, there was no sign of a bomb. No sign of any equipment forcing the substance in from the outside, it came from the _inside_ of the building. My wife was one of the few that made it out alive that night...but barely. Her lungs are corrupted in a way that cannot be resolved." Stein put a hand to his head. "It's far-fetched, I realize, but—"

"No," Caitlin reassured him, leaning down a little to look him in the eye. "No, I believe you, Professor."

"You do?" His voice wavered.

"Of course." Caitlin looked down at the table. "I've lost someone I cared about to...to the impossible, too."

Stein's eyebrows came down, he peered at her as if he could force her secrets out with intensity alone. "How do you mean, my dear?"

"Careful, Caitlin," Cisco interrupted. Caitlin had almost forgotten they were all listening back on Earth-1.

"It's—complicated." Caitlin took her time, choosing her words carefully. "Just that I know what it's like to face the—"

A very shrill, piercing sound of static blared in her ear. She heard Cisco say, "Not cool!" and Barry's disjointed voice warning her, "We're being cut—" before all noise died completely.

Then, from the silence, a crackly "Caitlin!" burst out. Caitlin's heartbeat quickened.

Professor Stein straightened. "Miss Snow?"

"I—I'm so sorry, Professor, I...just one second, please excuse me..."

Caitlin ducked away from the table, her back to the genius. She cupped one hand around the device in her ear. The voice that had called her name sounded muffled, but she recognized it.

"Barry? What is it?" Caitlin whispered. "What happened to the connection? Is something jamming—"

"It's me," came the blunt interjection.

Caitlin's head reared. "Savitar?" she sputtered.

"Get back down here. I'm guessing you'll wanna see this."

"How did you know about the comms?" Caitlin demanded. Under Cisco's instruction, she had connected them to her walkie talkie, just in case. It saved space in her purse, rather than carrying a headset, the walkie talkie could serve both Team Flash _and_ Barry's remnant.

"You're loud. You're slow. You're pretty terrible at stealth mode. I knew you bugged me the minute you left my room. Get back down here," he repeated, more slowly, as if she hadn't been paying attention the first time.

Caitlin glanced back at Professor Stein, who was drinking his coffee and staring out the window, probably in an attempt to give her some privacy—though there were far enough away from one another not to be able to hear her conversation.

"What do you need?" Caitlin huffed. "I'm busy."

"Now."

With that, he severed the connection.

Caitlin tapped the bluetooth speaker, trying to make sure he had actually hung up on her and the machine hadn't just turned off due to low battery. Of course he had. Trying to control her temper, she turned to Professor Stein, gathering up her things.

"I am so, so sorry," Caitlin said again, picking up her coffee. "Something just came up."

"Of course," Stein cleared his throat. "Well, I must say, it was rather refreshing to meet you, Miss Snow. I don't get much conversation apart from the staff at my company and, you know, the odd nurse when visiting Clarissa."

Caitlin shook his hand, smiling, recognizing the pain in his eyes and throbbing for him. There was nothing she could think of to say.

"I do hope to see you here more often," Stein confessed. "It was so nice to feel... _inspired_ again."

"I feel exactly the same way, Professor." Caitlin grinned at him. "And I would like that very much."

Satisfied in her work, she rushed from the cafe, wondering what in the world the Flash's double wanted now.

* * *

 **(Next chapter coming soon. Sorry if some of this one was boring, but Stein's presence needed to be established sooner rather than later. More Savitar in the next one, I promise! -Doverstar)**


	8. Chapter 8: One Run

**(Forgive me, Jell-O Squares. I'm fighting writer's block and this chapter isn't my favorite, but hopefully you can tolerate it. At least it's up. Those reviews are my joy. -Doverstar)**

* * *

Are you one of those people who loves to play card games? Board games? Games like Ninja, Signs, Charades, even Sardines? Some people can play those games over and over with their friends and family, their fallback, something everyone knows how to play, and never get sick of it. Others become bored with it, or simply haven't played in a while, and the next time you all gather to do it again, that one person can't remember how to play. You've all done it a thousand times, but everyone has that friend who needs a refresher.

For Savitar, being in S.T.A.R. Labs and working with the tech was very much like that. At first glance, the monitors and enhancers and tools were like something out of a dream he couldn't quite grasp. He examined the cords, even opened up a few computers to try and recall what made them tick. Snow had gotten most of the ones in the Cortex working again, but the computer in the engineering lab was still down, as was the one upstairs at reception. Savitar had begun working on the one in the engineering lab, and, finishing in about 20 minutes flat due to his meta abilities, he moved to the one in the Cortex. The one Killer Frost had tossed him into days ago.

Those glacier-white eyes had actually been more familiar than the browns she'd been sporting in this timeline her team had rewired. The timeline in which Iris didn't die, the timeline in which Caitlin Snow was never wounded from Abra Kadabra's escape.

Savitar's memories of the original timeline, the one where Killer Frost joined him, fiercely loyal and deadly as an avalanche, were blurring as the days went by. He did not pretend to harbor feelings of affection toward her—but they had an agreement. They had shared qualities. Barry Allen would not help his time remnant, though the two were practically of the same mind. And Barry Allen had been too obsessed with saving Iris to see that Caitlin had needed saving more. Until, of course, he was too late, and she'd died on the operating table, Killer Frost emerging in her stead.

His goal in tugging Frost out of Snow the other day had not been to turn her to darkness, to take over Earth-66. That drive in him had died out. Something about being rescued by Team Flash, being proven wrong about their present characters, had taken that fight right out of him. But again, it hurt to be around them, and the best thing for it was to live somewhere they did not. So here he was, with diligent Doctor Snow to keep an eye on him. Something curdled and writhing inside of him wanted her to turn cold. He wanted her to lose control. Wanted her to be something more than the determined, spotless scientist. He wanted to see some imperfection, something that proved she was...

He didn't want to dwell on it. He'd failed, anyway. And that made him more frustrated with her than ever. Savitar didn't have time for what he didn't understand. He remembered a time, long ago, memories that weren't really his, where he had understood no one better than Caitlin Snow. None of it mattered now.

Finishing with the computer—glass and all—Savitar moved to check that the rest were still functioning properly. He switched on the wall monitors. They were on the same channel they had been the day Frost had made her small appearance: the live news channel.

" _Pandemonium has broken out here at Central City's big Engineering EXPO, as a mystery assailant has just begun to terrorize the crowds gathered at each booth. According to our eye in the sky, the stranger has set fire to many of the creations on display and is now turning his attention to the public itself. Police urge civilians to stay away from the area as they try to control the situation. More updates to follow. This is Sandra Peterson, Central City News, reporting live..._ "

Savitar watched the chaos onscreen. It was Rory again. Of course. The dancing little pyro couldn't keep his hands to himself. Savitar felt contempt, annoyance, but nothing like the rage that once filled Barry Allen at seeing a villain lay waste to the innocent. There was a spark of it, somewhere flickering beneath the rubble that had built up after everything else that had happened to him.

Barry Allen would race to the rescue. Savitar just watched, searching for the desire he remembered, the drive to help and protect, waiting for it to surge through him. He couldn't. It didn't. Where had it gone? Did he even want it? It wasn't laziness that rooted his feet to the ground. He just _could not_ care the way the original had. The way he remembered caring. And maybe that should've made him sad, maybe that should've broken him. It just wasn't there. He wasn't that person. Technically he never had been.

He knew someone who _would_ care, though. Someone driven to straight-up melodramatics over the screams coming from the news feed. He didn't know what made him reach for the comms attached to his jacket's lapel. Maybe he simply didn't have anything better to do.

"Caitlin." Something crackled on the other end, a few scattered voices. His connection must've been mingling with that of another. They could get over it.

There was a moment of shuffling, Snow apologizing to someone wherever she was.

Then, "Barry?"

 _Barry?_ For a moment he was frozen. It had been... _so long_ , eons, since someone had called him _Barry._ Hearing the name actually directed at him, he could hear echoes of others saying it with her. His mother, his father, Joe, Iris, Cisco, Wells, Jesse, Felicity, Wally, Oliver. It swamped his mind; his mouth went dry. He leaned, back and head, against the nearest wall, trying to shut it out. It hadn't come on this strong since Iris had touched him, just the once, back on Earth-1. He kept his eyes open this time. He couldn't picture it all as the life he ached for flooded through, not as long as he was looking at the present. S.T.A.R. Labs ceiling, cobwebs, the smell of mold. He fought to control his emotions, something he hadn't found too difficult until recently.

Caitlin was saying something else, asking too many questions. In a dizzying jolt back to reality, he realized she must have been talking to the original moments before, and she just thought that remained who she was babbling to, after a failing connection.

There was a foul taste in the back of his throat. He said quickly, harshly, "It's me," to make her stop.

"Savitar?" It was so like her to sound that baffled. For someone boasting an above-average IQ, she wasn't as bright as he thought he remembered. Or maybe she was, and all he cared to see were the flaws. He had been counting the things she simply didn't notice.

"Get back down here," he ordered bluntly, eyes returning to the news. "I'm guessing you'll wanna see this."

She wasn't listening to him. "How did you know about the comms?" Focused on semantics. He missed Killer Frost.

He tilted his head to either side with every explanation, eyebrows raised as if she could see him. "You're loud. You're slow. You're pretty terrible at stealth mode." Onscreen, Rory was setting fire to the warehouse outside of which the EXPO was set up. "I knew you bugged me the minute you left my room. Get. Back. Down here." Maybe she'd hear him if he spoke more slowly.

"What do you need?" She sounded impatient. His two-fingered grip tightened on his lapel as he stretched it closer to his mouth. "I'm busy."

Busy? She was at Jitters again. He could hear the silverware and the espresso machines in the background. She was as naive as he remembered. He had run the entire length of the city at least thirty times every day; she didn't think he noticed her sitting at the same table, in the same corner of the same cafe, at the same time every morning? She didn't notice _him_ flashing around Central City. But then, most people chose to ignore the impossible. Savitar had trained himself to catalogue every detail of his surroundings. He could say he'd been working off of advice from Oliver Queen, but that was someone else's life, wasn't it? Eternity in the Speed Force sharpened your senses. He'd noticed a moth on the satellite of a skyscraper the other day in the space of a single heartbeat.

What could be so important at Jitters, he wondered, that his little governess just couldn't be bothered? Unless it was Barry Allen. _Then_ she was so intent on keeping their connection online, antsy Caitlin didn't know what to do with herself. It was almost embarassing to be apart of.

"Now," he spat into the mic, and so as not to leave room for discussion, he switched the device off. If she meant what she'd said when she offered to come here with him, she'd be by within the hour, average speed or no. If not, no skin off of his back.

* * *

Caitlin was back 20 minutes earlier than he'd expected her.

If she thought seeing him _eat_ was surreal, she didn't know the meaning of the word. When Caitlin Snow entered a room, Savitar could think of nothing in his life more surreal than her presence, her existence. Being in the same timeline, breathing the same air as he did.

Savitar came from loss. He came from a time where Caitlin Snow was dead, and Killer Frost had gone down fighting, locked up with all his secrets. He came from a time where Team Flash was dissolved. Seeing her as her human self, still apart of that team, was like looking at a ghost. He dreamt of her, dreamt of all of them, every night. The Speed Force had choked him with their faces, their memories. With his own bitterness.

To see a portion of his past—Barry's past—just run right into the Cortex as if any of this was real, any of this _fit_ in his timeline...that was as surreal as you could get. Killer Frost was just a sentence in his story. Caitlin Snow was a cliffhanger the editor had added at the end. Even he didn't know what would happen next where she was concerned. And Savitar didn't like not being in control.

She didn't seem to care what he liked, because there she was anyway, throwing her purse into the nearest chair. "I came as fast as I could," she gasped, leaning against the curved white desk.

"Really?" Savitar's back was still pressed against the north wall. "That's depressing."

Caitlin ignored the jab. She reached for the nearest keyboard, booting up her favorite monitor. "What did you need me for?"

Savitar chortled, spirits rising with mirth. "I don't need you," he told her casually, rolling his eyes.

Caitlin glanced up at him, but looked away too quickly for him to enjoy his handiwork. He hadn't been able to spy any kind of stinging in her irises. _Doctor Snow, Barry doesn't need you._ Didn't that at least earn him a watery stare? How boring.

"This," he said, turning up the volume on the wall monitor, "is why I called you."

Now she was gawking at the news feed above, on the wall monitor. He watched the color drain from her face, watched the cool confidence as she set her jaw; she'd seen this kind of thing a million times before. So had he. The difference was that she intended to do something about it.

"Heat Wave," she surmised. "This is—at this rate there won't be anything left for him to burn. We need to..." She trailed off, finally tearing her gaze from the screen to the speedster lounging in the corner. He watched frozen disappointment flit across her being. It was alive in the tightening of her neck, the curl of her fingers. Then it was gone. "Are you listening?"

Savitar blinked, slow as a cat, eyes tracing the waves in her hair. "You want me to stop him."

"Yes, I do."

He took a moment to lock eyes with her, making sure she had a moment to hope, before shaking his head. "No."

She was counting to ten, he could see it. "They need you, people are _dying_."

"People die every day." Savitar shrugged. "Why are _they_ so important?" He nodded to the screen. "It's _so_ short. You all live such tiny lives, you're lucky you have time to do anything at all." He had only to close his eyes to understand it all, remembering how long he'd been around, from 2024 to an eternity in the Speed Force, to months on Earth-1, all the way up to this one breath in this one room in this one world. When you'd lived that long, ordinary people's lifespan seemed like setting a traffic cone down next to a fir tree and comparing the two. "Maybe it's their time. Ever think of it like that?"

Caitlin's face was still as stone. "You want to get faster, don't you?"

"You have your hobbies."

"What better way to increase your abilities than to pit them against a predicament like this?" Caitlin gestured wildly to the news feed with a hand. "You have Barry's memories. The only way he ever got faster was by testing his limits, fighting metas, _saving_ people." She raised her eyebrows. "You can run as fast as you want when you're on your own, without anything getting in your way. How much faster do you think you'll be once you've remastered a few roadblocks?"

"Pretty speech. No flash cards?" She didn't respond to that and he grunted. "You're forgetting something—it's been a while since I chased down a meta. You've never actually seen _me_ try it, have you?"

"Are you saying you're rusty?"

Savitar leaned off of the wall, torso only, hands in his pockets. "What if you don't like the way I do it?"

Caitlin glared at him. He knew that face. She was writing out an equation, she was weighing a phial, she was spellchecking an essay, retracing her steps in a procedure. She was trying to read him without the instruction manual. Good luck.

"As long as you don't _kill_ anyone," she said coldly, "I don't care _how_ you help them."

Oh, he saw that one coming. Too bad Killer Frost had never had the chance to do any killing. Maybe she'd have understood how fun it could be, and he'd be free to play with Rory all afternoon, no restrictions. Instead he was stuck with Snow's familiar honor code, the way she pursed her lips like that one high school teacher who would not stand for any back-talk.

Savitar's milky eye glittered. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, palms pointed to the ceiling, fingers parted. He felt a mocking, crooked smile form. "What are we waiting for?"

This threw her. She jittered in place. "You'll do it?"

"I need to stretch my legs," he sighed. "He's down by the riverfront, right?"

He moved for the door, but she rushed to actually stand in his way.

"Wait," she commanded. "You need—"

"I have you on speed dial, thanks," Savitar murmured, staring sleepily down at her. He brandished the comms attached to his lapel. "Not that I'll need your help. I give it ten minutes, tops." He tried to shoulder past, but surprisingly, she would not be shouldered.

"Okay, first of all," Caitlin grunted, holding up a warning finger, "I don't care how godlike you think you are; saving everyone at that EXPO—including the critically injured— _and_ stopping Mick Rory is not going to take ten minutes, tops."

"Oooh!" Savitar's head reared. "Is that a challenge, Doctor Snow?"

"Secondly," she went on, very obviously containing her own eye-roll, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "you don't just need comms, you need a suit. A fireproof suit."

Savitar glanced to the left. He glanced to the right. He pretended he needed to stand on tiptoes to look past her, craning his neck. "I don't _see_ my suit anywhere," he informed her, feigning apologetics. "Figures, I mean, I _thought_ I was forgetting something when we got here, but I guess I kind of zoned out, huh?"

Caitlin blinked. "Not that suit."

She reached for the enormous duffel bag, one of two, that she kept underneath the main desk. Savitar had considered examining the contents, of course, before deciding he just didn't care. What could be in there for him? Nothing he didn't already have.

He was wrong, as it turned out.

"Cisco had it made for you. Just in case."

The hooded mask was bigger, the legs a little longer—he was a copy of Barry's _older_ self, after all—and the bolts on the head were smaller. But other than that it was exactly the suit he remembered. The suit he used to just look at, making him giddy as a schoolboy two minutes before recess. He remembered the first time he'd worn it, the first time he'd gone for a run in it. The moment he could feel everything changing, something incredible coming into his life—the _Flash_. The Fastest Man Alive. Central City's guardian angel. When he wore that suit, everything made sense. He knew who he was and what he had to do and how good it would feel. People needed him in that suit, and he would always be there.

But that wasn't him anymore. Those weren't even _his_ memories. Savitar sized the suit up as Caitlin held it out to him.

"Mm hm." He snorted a short laugh. "I'm not wearing that."

Snow did not look daunted. She cocked her head at him, tantamount to an unimpressed _really_? Then she reached around the suit with one hand, pressing down on the lightning bolt symbol attached to its chest.

With the same affect a used paintbrush had in a cup of water, charcoal _black_ spread across the bright red and in seconds the suit was transformed. The yellow had become electric blue.

"How about now?" Caitlin asked, barely containing her satisfaction.

Savitar looked away, shaking his head. Amused. He held up a finger to her. "One run."

* * *

It wasn't like running in the Speed Force was something he grew nostalgic for, but there _was_ an absence of energy Savitar found distracting here, in the real world. Smells and sounds he didn't have to tune out in the Speed Force. Where the Force had taken his own mind and turned it inside-out, like a pocket, throwing everything he knew at him as he ran, this dimension had things he _wasn't_ used to. People he had never met he had to blur by. Shops in this Central City that weren't on Earth-1's.

The Speed Force had been Hell, but at least he'd known what to expect.

Wearing the suit again disoriented him. He recognized its feeling, recognized the easy friction in the boots, the way it blocked the wind as he ran, the way it protected his ears from the velocity. But though it felt correct on him, it was also like wearing someone else's tee shirt after ruining your own—it was comfortable, but he was painfully aware it wasn't his. Ramon had made it so that _he_ could wear it, yes—the problem was that the design was reminiscent of someone he wasn't.

The black was cool, though.

A shrill voice pierced his right ear. "You missed it."

Savitar slid to a stop. He was on the outskirts of downtown, in a subdivision. Cute little houses everywhere. He could hear someone playing Frisbee in a backyard somewhere, shoes crunching through dead autumn grass.

"What?" he puffed, hand to the comms.

Snow spoke louder, as if that were the problem. "You missed it!"

"I missed _what_?"

"The EXPO. You ran right by it."

Savitar glanced around. "By how much?"

"You're about a mile awa—" _EEEEE_. Her words elevated into a high-pitched shriek; she was still too loud.

"Fantastic." He hung his head back.

"Turn around and I'll tell you when—"

 _EEEEEEEEE_.

Savitar squeezed his eyes shut. " _Hold the mic away from your mouth_."

"Sorry." That was better.

"Stop talking." He turned, tearing out of the subdivision, kicking up more than a few leaves in his wake.

The smell of smoke told him where to go. He hadn't noticed it before, lost in thought. The EXPO was in a large field on the riverfront, and there must have been about forty different booths and stands before Rory had torched them all. The entire field was ablaze, flames everywhere, clouds of black polluting the air. Screams and people running in all directions, more than one lifeless form strewn on the lawn.

"It's an engineering EXPO under attack from an arsonist." There she was again. "There's going to be more than one pile of smoldering metal, probably a few stray pieces along the ground. Watch your step. Your suit is fireproof, but I don't know how much molten iron it can take before it burns through your boots. If your feet are injured, it could impair your speed, and your chances of getting everyone to safety will drop."

"We'll see." Savitar scanned the horizon. The smoke shielded everything. "Where's Rory?"

"It looks like the flames originated at the entrance behind you. Heat Wave created a path from there north. He must be near the end of the block by now."

Savitar shot forward, eyes moving nearly as quickly as his legs, surveying the EXPO and the damage Rory had done. The smell made his eyes water. Rory couldn't have gotten too far away; stopping to boil everything in his path would've taken time.

"I see him," he breathed into his comms.

"What is he doing?"

"Take a guess."

Rory had his back to Savitar. Flames shot from his hands, burning the nearest booth. It was too late to tell what it had been, but Savitar did see, on the ground beneath a table that had been set aflame, a melting mass that might have once been an engine of some kind.

Heat Wave was saying something, or maybe laughing, but the crackling and screaming drowned it out.

"You have to be smart," Caitlin told him. "The heat signatures on my monitors are magnified in one specific spot—that must be him. Savitar, with the temperature he's producing, if he so much as breathes in your direction—" She hesitated. "You'll basically burn until there isn't anything left to burn. I don't even know if he can turn it off, there's so much of it inside him."

"Start your timer," Savitar muttered. "Ten minutes."

"This isn't—"

He stopped listening, taking off toward the river. He could hear Caitlin asking too many questions again, wondering why he was now moving in the opposite direction of the threat. He didn't waste time responding, stopping just at the water's edge. He'd need something to carry it in.

A dash for the remaining section of the EXPO Rory hadn't reached yet gave him his answer. Ignoring the people fleeing the area, he visited every stand until he found what he needed—a water cooler, the kind you'd bring to the beach on a hot day. Whoever owned the booth had planned on being here a while. Emptying its contents, Savitar took it back to the river, filling it in half a second and turning back in Rory's direction.

"What are you doing?" Caitlin demanded. "You're coming in and out of range!"

"He needs a bath."

"If you get too close—"

He was already close. Savitar stopped behind Rory, turned the cooler over, and drenched him. Completely caught off guard—he hadn't even seen the speedster yet—Rory staggered, silver smoke pouring from every open part of his face. He made a choked sound, as if he wanted to scream, but he couldn't.

Within the space of three minutes, Savitar had done this same deed about twelve times. Rory was disoriented, and Savitar was moving too quickly for him to pinpoint precisely who was giving him a soaking. Maybe he thought it was a lot of rain. Savitar didn't remember him being too bright. Enjoying the look of total bewilderment on his opponent's face, the speedster decided that the cooler method was fun, but not fun enough.

He skidded to a halt in front of Rory at last, tossing the cooler to the side with both hands.

"What are you _doing_?" Caitlin repeated. Clearly she was unused to being out of the know when a speedster was on the job. Savitar was tempted to switch off the comms.

Rory spat water from his mouth. It was running down his hairless head, into his eyes, dripping from his fingers. There was a fine circle of soaked autumn grass at his feet. "What?" Heat Wave coughed out, more steam rising with every breath, looking the stranger up and down. It had to have been mystifying, an intruder dressed like _that_ suddenly appearing two feet away.

"Nice parlor trick." Savitar whistled, long and low. "All that heat must make you thirsty, Rory."

Heat Wave used a hand to wipe the water from his eyes, squinting. "You know my name?" he rasped out. So articulate.

Savitar had his collar in both fists before the meta could manage another gasp. "Let me get you a drink."

In another heartbeat, they'd returned to the river. The wind from the run hadn't dried Rory out yet, but his shirt was warmer in Savitar's hands as he lifted him high above the pavement.

"Stop!" Caitlin commanded in his ear. "If you—"

Too late. Savitar threw Rory down into the water with the force of a rollercoaster cart halfway through the track. An enormous splash, and the meta's form disappeared into the shadows beneath the waves.

"Ten minutes," Savitar grunted.

"How could you do that?" Caitlin was not impressed. In fact, she sounded angrier than ever. "You weren't even _thinking_!"

Savitar opened his mouth, but before he could respond, a massive light coming from the beneath the river's surface made him pause. The retort died in his throat as he realized his mistake. The water began to boil.

"You just threw a human volcano into the shallow end of a controlled body of water," Caitlin was snarling. "What did you think would happen, he'd sizzle out like an ember?"

Savitar didn't answer—Rory had emerged from the river in an explosion of scalding liquid, a wave that showered the edge of the field. Savitar sped out of its range, mentally kicking himself. He _hadn't_ been thinking, Snow was right. It had felt too good to give someone a beating again. He hadn't focused. Now there was more work to do.

Heat Wave landed steadily on both feet, just a yard away from the speedster. He was grinning from ear to ear, and his skin tinged sunburn red.

"He's superheating himself," Caitlin reported. "He's like a battery, his cells are charging him up, feeding his body's natural warmth. Drying out. He must have been too surprised to do it earlier—and now that he's had time to bottle it up, he's about explode!"

"You might be fast, freakshow," Rory hissed, smoke coiling out of both nostrils like a Chinese dragon. "But that just means you'll burn quicker."

Savitar grinned back. "Let's get started."

A tunnel of flames shot toward him. The speedster dodged it with a jog to the left as easy as an average person's sidestep. Heat Wave kept it coming—tunnels of fire, actual fireballs, even skin-melting hot air.

Savitar avoided it all, behind Rory, in front of him again, to his left, to his right, playing with him. Deadly quiet the entire time.

"Stand— _still_!" Heat Wave roared, breathing _blue_ flames in one long stroke, so quickly Savitar had to leap over the meta's head to escape it.

He landed behind Rory, who was breathing hard. Breath like gas, the villain turned to face his opponent once more, obviously winded.

Savitar's smile grew. "My turn."

The first blow was in Rory's gut. The meta doubled over, and Savitar kicked his legs out from underneath him. Before Heat Wave could react, Savitar was on top of him, fist after fist colliding with his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth. Heat Wave twisted beneath the speedster, trying to land his own blows, and Savitar felt his whole body get dangerously hot. Rory clocked him once, twice, with fists like branding irons, but for every punch Savitar received, he dished out five more with arms that moved faster than Mick Rory could breathe.

The meta's skin returned to bright red, his eyes glazed over.

"He's doing it again!" Caitlin warned him. "You can only touch him for so long before he regains enough heat to wield against you! Get off him!"

Savitar sprang backward, wiping blood from his lip. He out-and-out panted, adrenaline taking his breath. He pressed two fingers to the comms. "You take all the fun out of fighting," he grinned into the mic.

"Try to be a _little_ more humane." Caitlin's voice was tight, controlled. "People might think _you're_ the villain."

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" Savitar watched, flexing his fingers, as Rory picked himself up.

Shrieking suddenly, Caitlin snapped, "Back up! He's overwhelmed! His powers are reacting blindly to the pain— _move_! _"_

Savitar immediately flashed all the way to the other end of the field. From there, he watched as Heat Wave's body began to glow, a thick smell of sweat and smoke claiming a quarter of the oxygen in the area. Pure white fire burst from Rory's mouth, his eyes, his palms. He was like a tiny supernova, sucking the moisture from the grass and setting half the the block ablaze.

When the noise died down, Savitar narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the wall of fire. "Don't tell me he's still alive over there."

"According to the sensors, he's making his getaway."

"No he's not."

Savitar took three steps back before plowing toward the other end of the field, feet pressing so hard into the ground that he kicked up inches of the turf in his wake. The Speed Force was surging through his limbs; he hadn't felt _this_ energized since he'd tossed Barry Allen through a wormhole.

Rory wouldn't see him coming. He was storming across the last section of the EXPO, not pausing to destroy anything because his little explosion had done all the work for him. Savitar clenched his teeth, bracing for impact.

"Wait!"

Savitar stopped so suddenly, he created a small crater. " _What_ , Caitlin? What is it?"

"Turn around!"

"Why?"

"The news feed—the chopper is following you—"

Savitar rolled his eyes. "Are they getting my good side?"

"No—no, not that! I think I see—oh my god, over there, turn _around_ , turn around right now! There, by the fountain!"

Fountain? Savitar turned in a circle, finally spying the cherub-themed fountain a few feet away. Did she want him to use it to douse Rory? It was too late for that. He could take him down right now, no H20 necessary, if she would just _stop talking_.

His eyes landed on a writhing form at the foot of the fountain. A faint groan, something like a hollowed-out whimper, could be heard over the general panic. Savitar approached warily. He had gone after Heat Wave first, trusting the citizens to get themselves out of harm's way. Why was Snow just _now_ drawing his attention from the main attraction?

He understood when he reached the body.

"Wally," he muttered, leaning over the kid.

"Oh no," Caitlin whispered. She sounded sick.

It was indeed Wally West—his hair was thicker here than it was on Earth-1, but his mustard-colored jacket, his voice when he moaned, were very familiar. He was clutching his left hand, bleeding down the side of his head, ugly welts covering his neck and right cheek.

"How bad is he?" Snow's voice was trembling.

"Bad," Savitar surmised, words clipped. "Mick did a number on him."

"Is he—"

"Alive," Savitar decided, checking the boy's pulse. "For now."

"You have to bring him back here."

Savitar stood up straight. "No. I'm going after Rory."

"If you don't bring Wally to S.T.A.R. Labs for treatment, he'll die!"

"Then he dies," Savitar snapped. "You want me to let the bad guy go just to save one life?"

" _Yes_! Always." The trembling had disappeared. "It doesn't matter whose life it is, it doesn't matter how far gone they are, you _always_ try."

Savitar let out a long breath. Watching Wally slipping in and out consciousness below him. The hem of West's jacket was smoldering; his eyes were squeezed shut.

"Fine," Savitar muttered. "One third-degree-burn patient, coming your way."

* * *

 **(I promise fluff is coming. I'm pacing myself, but I hope it'll be worth the wait. Hey, this thing has to have a plot, unfortunately. You can't have the seasoning without the french fry itself. Do tell me your thoughts, friends! You've all been ridiculously kind in those reviews. I'll do better in the next chapter, I swear. -Doverstar)**


	9. Chapter 9: An Uncommon Cold

**(Yikes, that last chapter really had me wanting to rewrite, maybe make it thicker. Oh well. The show must go on. Try this one and tell me what you think. It's short, but it's also my bedtime, so I apologize. -Doverstar)**

* * *

It was maddening to see Wally this way. Body spasming with pain, rewritten with burns. Stress clogged her lungs. At least on Earth-1, Caitlin would have had her friends around her to give her support as she did her job, as she tried to heal him, but here, she was alone. All she had was Savitar—and he wasn't much help. He stood on the opposite side of the examination table, suit's hood down, staring at nothing while she worked.

"I've given him a sedative," Caitlin murmured, "but it won't take affect for another ten minutes at least. He's barely conscious as it is."

Savitar, of course, did not answer her. That was fine. She didn't need someone to respond; she often spoke aloud during a procedure. It helped her focus, take stock of everything she was doing.

"The good news is, he isn't a speedster on this Earth, so any medicine I give him won't be burned through by his metabolism."

A very throaty groan from her patient echoed throughout the Cortex.

"Sorry," Caitlin told him, though she knew he wouldn't have heard. "Poor choice of words."

She heard Savitar shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. "I'm guessing this is going to take more than the usual ointment and lollipop treatment." He didn't sound sympathetic, as usual, but at least she wasn't the only one talking unnecessarily.

"I don't have the equipment for a skin graft," Caitlin fretted, moving to clean the blood from Wally's cheek. "And I don't know how much blood he's already lost—the scanner indicates that something pierced his lower back before you found him. But if I don't take care of these burns first, he won't be able to keep still, and I can't stabilize the back wound if he doesn't. Hang in there, Wally." She heard her own tone—it was loud, but calm. She didn't feel calm. She felt useless. She hadn't been expecting someone would need so many tools so quickly into her time here on Earth-66, let alone that it would be Wally who needed them.

Wally's breathing had become ragged, and Caitlin tried not to completely fall apart at the sound, wondering if he was short of breath from the sedatives, or if she was losing him already.

"The solution is simple." Savitar spoke as if she were much younger than she was, shrugging a shoulder.

Caitlin turned a desperate gaze his way. "Simple?"

He reached across Wally's shuddering form and held the snowflake pendant on the end of her necklace. Caitlin jerked backward, not allowing him to touch it even for a full second.

Savitar looked impatient. "You can heal those burns, heal _all_ of him, if you use your—"

Caitlin gave him her coldest warning look yet. "I am _not_ taking this off again."

Savitar raised his eyebrows. "You want him to die?"

"I know what you're doing," Caitlin informed him, voice low.

"You know I'm _right_ ," he countered, not backing down. "You want to save him, there's your answer. Easy. Too scared to try it, fine, let him die, but don't say I didn't warn you. You have a patient suffering from burns, you have cold powers, and you're telling me you're not gonna use them?"

"No!" Caitlin's worry took her voice and amplified it with every word; she was shouting soon enough. "No, I'm not. Stop it! _Stop_ trying to turn me into Killer Frost!" She slammed a hand down on the tool cart beside her.

In the midst of the tension, the nerves making the Cortex emptier, Savitar's shoulders shook with mirth. "That's _cold_. You think _I_ want you to be Killer Frost?"

Caitlin didn't answer, searching his eyes. Of _course_ he wanted it. The light from her pendant seemed brighter, pulsing against the fist closed around it. H.R. and Cisco used to gather the team to play a game of Body Body in S.T.A.R. Labs at night every once in a while. They said it was for morale. She remembered losing every round, almost always the first to be sent to 'the graveyard', because her friends could see her necklace glowing in the dark. Iris had offered her scarf to fix the problem, and Caitlin had actually won once or twice as a result. She had refused to remove the necklace, of course, and even though the game was harder to play because of it, Caitlin had always been fond of the light it gave off. It was comforting, it reminded her that the trinket was a comfort, not a burden. The only thing keeping her in control.

And Barry Allen's sneering copy wanted her to abandon it. She could think of a thousand reasons why, none of them very flattering. And frankly, she didn't have time for his games.

" _You_ want to be Killer Frost." Savitar let the words sink in, and Caitlin swallowed. "The only person who ever actually separated you from that thing," he went on, pointing to the pendant, "was _you_. Not me. You chose to take it off that night."

"Because you tricked me," Caitlin protested through gritted teeth. Another thrash from Wally and she reached for the anesthetic, forcing him to swallow it and trying to ignore Savitar's eyes on her.

Savitar scoffed. "It didn't take much, did it?"

If looks could kill.

"Bottom line is, whether you like it or not, Killer Frost is part of you. And you can either let it overpower you, or _you_ can take control." Savitar raised his chin, pulling an arm out of its fold to point at her, a challenge in his green eye. "Good. Evil. It's up to you. Your powers are whatever you _choose_ for them to be."

Caitlin knew she was staring. She shouldn't be staring. It wasn't polite. She couldn't help it. She suddenly could not tell who was standing across from her anymore. It wasn't the poison-tongued time remnant. It wasn't golden Barry Allen. But it sounded so much like him, her heart skipped a beat.

"Pretty speech," she managed, still staring, unmoving.

Savitar's head shook, a little snort of a laugh escaping him. "Don't get used to it."

There was a moment of silence, Caitlin looking down at her necklace, unaware that the man who was not the Flash was taking a turn staring. Calculating. Measuring.

"Not like it wouldn't be easier to just let him die," Savitar added suddenly, voice wood once more. "But I'm not the doctor here, so."

Caitlin exhaled, the moment forgotten. "No. You're not."

Then she ripped off her necklace.

Savitar noticed her eyes flicker—brown, white, brown, white. She heard Frost's laugh in her ears, felt every negative emotion well up in her chest, all her worst qualities swarming her throat and her heart. She looked down at Wally and for a moment, there was no pity for him. All she felt was cold. Contempt, then indifference. Why should he live again? Why should she do anything to save him? He wasn't a speedster here. He was barely even an adult. His existence made no mark in the universe, and did nothing for her. Suddenly she just couldn't see the point.

She glanced up at the Flash's disposable copy, admiring his scars. But confusion still furrowed her brow. Everything was grayer, the edges of her vision were so sharp they were practically grainy. Wally lay in agony on the gurney. Her hands were overflowing with frigid air. What should happen next? Why couldn't she think properly?

Pulling out of the fog in her mind, she eventually whipped out, "I don't have to help him." Her voice was winter wind, designed to put a tingle in between fingers and raise the hairs on the back of necks.

"Well." Savitar's arms were back to being crossed. His eyebrows jumped. The right corner of his mouth turned up. "You're not wrong."

"I don't want to."

Savitar's head went on one side. He didn't say anything, didn't give her any orders. He didn't even look displeased. She needed direction, someone to tell her what to do now. Why was everything so _sharp_ , it was like she was looking through a high-quality microscope. Somehow that it made it harder to see. She didn't like his silence. She didn't like the air in here. She didn't like the color of West's jacket. Everything was too loud.

Why was she here? Why shouldn't she just leave? Didn't she have better things to do than to look after Caitlin Snow's scarred pet reject and the stray they'd dragged in?

Savitar was eyeing the blood running from Wally's cheek onto his neck, the way his hand tried to grasp at the mattress as if the feeling of touching something would take away the feeling of his skin boiling off. The ends of the God of Speed's dark hair were hard with sweat from his little fight with Rory.

His one green eye caught her examining him, and Caitlin Snow shoved Killer Frost to the side, as hard as she could.

The sharpness around her vision died a little. Caitlin's hands shook; she felt Frost trying to regain control. There was an awful sense of fragility in her every breath. If she slipped, if she slipped just a little, she'd be gone forever and someone with white hair and icy intentions would take over.

Killer Frost was throwing everything at her. Trying to make her lose focus, look on the dark side. She stared, shaking, at Wally and saw lost causes. It was Wally one moment, Ronnie the next. It could've been Zoom in Savitar's place. Wally's breathing sounded like Caitlin's father, weak in that hospital bed her mother couldn't free him from. Caitlin swore she heard H.R.'s drumsticks tapping somewhere behind her.

 _H.R._ H.R. and Cisco arguing. She could hear them. Iris and Jesse, in the chairs by the white desk, admiring Iris' engagement ring. The light coming off the jewel. Joe strolling through the entrance archway, mid-conversation on his cell phone, the smell of coffee coming in with him. Julian ordering Cisco to keep it down, glued to the glass demonstration board off to the left, she could hear the marker squeaking across its surface. Dr. Wells in his wheelchair on the dais, adjusting his glasses to see the latest readings from Barry's treadmill.

 _Barry_ , Barry grinning in the corner, Barry opening the glass case to retrieve his suit, Barry downing a Big Belly Burger, Barry pulling on his S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt, Barry laughing, Barry calling her name from the across the room...

They were all there with her, just for a second. The room was brighter, the colors were stronger.

She knew what she was doing. She was a physician, a bio-engineer. She wanted to make things better. She wanted to make Wally better, and she could do it, too. She had it in her. She'd proven it before. They'd shown her.

Before Frost had time to tug her hair, Caitlin laid her hands on Wally's burns, focusing all her energy on one repeated thought: _Fix him, I want to help. I want to help._

The cold turned Wally's singed skin blue. Then it was silver, then it was pale brown. And the burns on his face were nothing but a yellowish stain. It crept to the wound making his cheek bleed, sewing it up in the patterns you could find on windowsills in a snowstorm. The blood froze and dried, red to burgundy.

She moved to his arms, his neck, his chest. Whenever the blue tried to stay, Caitlin inhaled, reigning it in, trying to ignore the way Wally shuddered underneath her arctic touch.

Caitlin turned him over with some difficulty, lifting up his jacket and shirt, steely at the sight of the deep gash down his lower back. _We might be able to do something about that little cut._ She couldn't tell if it was Snow or Frost snarking in her head. It didn't matter. She would give it her best shot.

At first, Wally's body arched, trying to pull away from her. He let out a cry that made her eyes sting, but she kept working. The blue lingered a little too long this time, and Wally's breath began to cloud in the air. Caitlin counted to ten, not daring to close her eyes; she needed them for this procedure. The cold was in her toes, her fingernails, her spine. She couldn't let it infect her friend, but she had to allow it to take up residence with him, just for now. Just a trickle, to save him. To mend the wound, stitch it up, and it really started to, just the way she envisioned it doing as she pushed more and more of the frost out.

Ice didn't have healing abilities. It could delay the inevitable for a while, if it was actually cold enough, if there was the right amount of it. But Caitlin's abilities were more than just snowy superpowers. Savitar had been right, they were _part_ of her. They were in her DNA, her bloodstream, her genetic makeup was tainted. They would do as she bade them, if she was in control. If she kept the bite of winter from turning her into someone she wasn't.

Caitlin Snow was a healer. So the ice went in to heal.

After a few more minutes, Wally stopped writhing. He stopped screaming, he stopped doing just about everything except breathing. He seemed exhausted, but no longer in pain. As Caitlin turned him over one last time, trying to put him in the healthiest position to rest. He was shivering, and she pulled the sole blanket up to his chin, reaching for her necklace.

After she tightened the clasp, Caitlin remembered she wasn't the only person standing in the room. Savitar couldn't hold a candle to her warm Team Flash vision, but she found he wasn't an entirely unwelcome sight, either. _This_ time.

He was watching Wally's chest, the rise and fall of it, not looking back at her at all.

But when he spoke, it wasn't to their guest. "Hi there, Doctor Snow."

He said her name, her real name, slowly, very intentionally. His voice was hoarse and neutral as usual, but something was missing in it. His head came up, eyes glittering. Barry's mouth twitching, Barry's right eyebrow raised just so.

It was because she was relieved to be in her own mind. It was because Wally was going to be okay. It was because she was suddenly struck with the fact that the man standing on the other side of Wally's bed—the man with so much weight in his memories and the same smell as her best friend—had surprised her. He'd been doing that a lot in the past few days. Why hadn't she noticed until now? She hadn't been prepared. Ironic as it was, the unexpected was suddenly very familiar to her.

That was why she smiled at him. She just beamed right at him.

Of course, he had the clarity of mind to look as if she had just slugged him across the good half of his face, which made it very worth it to let loose like that for a second.

Then there was a gasp in between them, and Caitlin started, hands gripping the metal frame of the examination table. Savitar pulled the hood of his suit back on.

"He's up," she blurted instinctually, turning to grab her stethoscope. The last traces of contrasting cold must've shocked his brain into red flag mode at last.

Wally's eyes were open, his shoulders tense. He was heaving for breath. His eyelids fluttered; Caitlin's sedative was finally taking hold. He rasped out, focusing wearily on her, "Where'm I?"

"You're—" Her first notion was to say _back at S.T.A.R. Labs_ , but she got the feeling that would be too confusing right before he fell asleep. "You're safe, don't worry."

"This guy—" Wally coughed, eyes watering. "Guy blew up...he came to my booth, he, he..."

"It's all over now," Caitlin promised, shushing him gently. "He can't hurt you."

Wally let her push him back down as he struggled to sit up. His hand found her wrist. "You pull me out?" he managed, clearly trying very hard to stay awake _and_ speak coherently. But his body had just been through too much too quickly.

"No—no, I—it wasn't me," Caitlin cleared her throat. "Sorry. It was...someone else."

"Someone else?" Wally's head swiveled aimlessly around. His voice cracked. His eyes were bloodshot.

"He's right here." Caitlin went around the table, taking Savitar's hand, tugging him into the frantic college student's eyeline. Savitar's hand was colder than hers ever had been; she could actually feel it through his suit's gloves. He pulled it away as if he were holding the wrong end of a match, but at least he didn't move after she'd led him over.

Wally did not seem disturbed by the scars just visible beneath Savitar's strange mask. Probably the sedative. Instead of asking any more questions, he looked the speedster in the eyes, coughed one more time, and choked out, "Thank you," before dropping off. His hold on Caitlin's wrist went limp as he fell into an artificial sleep.

Caitlin risked a glance at the meta in the black and blue costume. Savitar seemed to be made of dry clay; if you so much as poked him, he could've cracked and crumbled into dust. She saw his eyes, even the milky one, go so soft he was almost Barry again, right there in that second. His palms closed and opened again. It was as if Wally had knocked the wind out of him.

Allen's words from Jitters came back to Caitlin. _You have to remind him what that feels like. Helping people._

He was feeling it now. When was the last time someone had thanked him? When was the last time he'd saved a life, instead of being so focused on his own?

Savitar turned to look at her very suddenly, as if just remembering she was there. When he did see her, the softness got strained. If she pretended for the moment that they were still eyes she knew, she might've thought he was trying to convince himself she was actually standing there.

"Hi, Flash," Caitlin murmured, finally answering him. The smile hadn't gone anywhere.

* * *

 **(Well? Give me the goods. Next chapter coming soon! Don't kill me for just 3,212 words, okay? I tried. Good night, Jell-O Squares! You guys fuel my fire. -Doverstar)**


	10. Chapter 10: Patchwork

**( _Why is she always updating past midnight?_ you may ask yourselves. Because she procrastinates, Jell-O Squares. Because she procrastinates. Go to sleep! -Doverstar)**

* * *

Finding Mick Rory had become their main focus.

Caitlin didn't know when they had switched from _let's get you settled in_ to _bring the pyro to justice,_ but though it proved more difficult than their original plan, she wasn't at all against it. Heat Wave was out there hurting the innocent, seemingly without cause, and if they had the ability to stop him, she held fast to the belief that it was their responsibility to do so.

She wasn't sure if Savitar shared her belief, but if not, it didn't stop him. In fact, he treated this manhunt like a game of sorts—running around the city, searching for clues to Rory's whereabouts, and in between, he'd stop to do your basic hero work wherever he saw the need. Cisco would say he was working his way up, level by level, to get to the big boss fight at the end. His _one run_ had turned into many more since saving Wally. He went out and fought crime every day, whenever he was free—and as he was an unemployed former psychopath, he was always free. Though he refused to give himself any kind of title, he donned the suit and threw himself into the task of tracking down Heat Wave and stopping any additional perpetrators on the way.

Caitlin was baffled at first. She couldn't understand how his mind had shifted from adamant indifference to resigned, almost bored selflessness. The way he treated his sort-of-hero career was similar to the way Harry Wells had treated the "sub-par" tech of Earth-1—he'd tolerate it, wouldn't fudge the job, but in the end it wasn't anything to get excited about. So she didn't know why he kept it up. Not that she was complaining—this was one of the things she'd speculated could be the key to giving him that coveted second chance.

But as one week on Earth-66 turned into two and a half, she realized Savitar wasn't simply doing this because there wasn't a better option. He _had_ a motive. It was unclear what that motive was, but it was there, and that alone was encouraging. She could tell by the way he was carrying himself lately. His hands were free of his pockets, his head was held just an inch or so higher. He didn't avoid eye contact quite as much. Caitlin wanted to believe it was the Barry buried in him, enjoying the sense of purpose. Somehow, though, that didn't quite fit.

Whatever the reason, there was no harm in letting him do a few good deeds around the city. This Earth could use it.

Unfortunately, he really _was_ rusty. His skills, his abilities, were fine—almost perfect. It was his head that needed work. Barry Allen had jumped in without thinking multiple times in his early years, and still did sometimes, but Savitar was worse. Because not only did he not think about what he was doing; he seemed unwilling to learn how to be better. He just screwed up and impatiently dealt with the consequences.

A car spinning out of control? He got the people out of the vehicle, but neglected to stop said vehicle before it crashed into the nearest building, sparks and bricks and general unpleasant smells flying. A mugger in an alley? The perpetrator was on the ground before he knew what had happened, but Savitar didn't take the time to check for weapons and the offender had landed on the wrong end of the pocketknife he'd been brandishing. You name it—things that should have been so simple turned into an actual ordeal, just because the speedster had ignored common sense, logic, hadn't taken orders from anyone or helped any situation in too long, and now he was a sloppy hero.

And if he wasn't thinking too little, he was thinking too _much_. Savitar had turned Barry's scientific mind into an excellent map of strategy and cunning. He was used to obstacles, complicated schemes. There were few things more frustrating to Doctor Snow than the days he paused to plan when he could've gotten the job done in five minutes flat. Caitlin was constantly trying to help him to improve, dishing out suggestions, talking it through, but he simply wasn't having it. Sometimes he even switched off his comms, leaving her to watch his moves from the tracker on his suit, powerless in the Cortex until he got back to S.T.A.R. Labs so she could scold him. Which of course he completely ignored. She preferred the ignoring to the biting contempt, though, so she couldn't complain too much.

Today Caitlin had heard, after tapping into a police radio band, that a pair of robbers were escaping into the parking garage of this Earth's most prestigious jewelry company. She'd sent Savitar to stop them; he'd been halfway to Earth-66's version of Keystone before she'd called and he had to turn around.

"They're on the fifth floor," she told him, murmuring. Wally, still recovering, was asleep in the gurney up on the dais, and she didn't want to wake him.

Savitar didn't respond, but she saw his signature on the monitor slow when it came to the fourth floor, though he seemed obligated to speed right past it moments before.

"One is thicker-set than the other—his muscle count isn't very high, so it must be excess weight. He'll go down harder, but he'll be easiest to catch," Caitlin added, peering at the readings. Robbers were pretty average; she was grasping at straws, eager to help. She missed working with Barry on his missions more than she thought she would. "Try not to damage what they've taken. With a company like that, odds are whatever it is, it's invaluable." She paused. "They don't...have it in some kind of sack, do they?"

"Why does it matter?" came the thudding reply.

"It doesn't," Caitlin said quickly, feeling foolish. "I just—as a kid, I used to watch cartoons where jewel thieves would put...the—it doesn't matter." She cleared her throat and smoothed her blouse. "' _Hem_ , keep running."

She could see his marker coming closer to the two making their way to the elevator. Savitar made a nice, clean stop right in front of them. Unlike her Barry, he didn't often make quips when encountering baddies, he simply waited for them to pick the fight. He was never disappointed in the amount of time it took for someone to start panicking.

These two gentlemen were apparently the sort to ask curious questions, which was a nice change of pace.

"What are you supposed to be?" Caitlin could hear one of the criminals' voice spiraling high with amusement. He sounded less seedy than she expected a felon to sound. There was even a hint of a Southern accent.

"A god," Savitar replied, as casually as if he were making small talk in line at Subway. His vocal cords vibrated, distorting his tone. "But something came up."

The time remnant was _not_ the sort to ask curious questions, and he bored easy. Caitlin watched Savitar's little green dot on the screen dart toward the red ones that represented the robbers, in and out, in and out.

There was too much noise, too many grunts and groans. Feeling her stomach twist, Caitlin decided to use a little trick Cisco taught her. With a combination of keys and a click or two, she hacked into the parking garage's security cameras, hitting the right-hand arrow until the screen gave her the right floor.

The image was grainy, but the cameras were far away enough that she could distinguish what was what without trouble.

Caitlin gasped. One robber was already on the ground, clutching his chest and making an especially horrific rattling sound when he inhaled. Savitar had the other one on the run; clutching a duffel bag—not a sack—the overweight blonde man was scrambling for the elevator, which looked to be about five feet from him at this point.

Savitar was in his path in a blink, and the robber ran smack into him. The speedster moved without any hesitation, first clouting him underneath the chin, and when his opponent didn't fall down, Savitar reached down and gripped the handle of the duffel bag, using it to swing the man off his feet and across the garage at high speed. There was a crunch when he landed; she recognized the sound of broken bones and tasted her breakfast.

"What do you think you're doing?" Caitlin snarled into the mic. The tail of every word was barbed, as if she had released a mouthful of stingrays.

Savitar, still holding the duffel bag in one hand, reached to switch off his comms with the other.

"You cannot just ravage the people you stop," Snow went on rapidly, before he could do it. "That's not the way this job works, Savitar." She hadn't always checked to see _how_ he physically dealt with the ne'er-do-wells. Maybe she should have. How many more had suffered a penalty that didn't fit the crime before she'd seen him do _this_?

"Don't try to tell me they don't deserve it." His posture onscreen was so steady, his tone so saturated in scorn, as if her answer wouldn't make any difference to him anyway, that it made Caitlin's teeth hurt.

" _You_ deserved to be wiped from existence, and look where you ended up thanks to people who know how important it is to have mercy," Caitlin countered, trying and immediately failing to control the amount of venom spewing from her. It didn't matter who it was, it didn't matter how it happened, nothing could make her angrier than senseless violence, the defacing of human value. " _How_ you do things matters just as much, if not more, than _what_ you do."

Savitar slid the strap of the duffel bag across his shoulder, allowing the first robber to struggle to his feet, still breathing oddly.

Caitlin took a deep breath. _One...two...three..._ "You got the jewels back. Just—drop them off and move on to the next crime. Please."

When she saw him turn his back to the wounded crooks, she let the breath out in relief, switching off the security feed and scanning the city for further disruptions.

Then the sound of a gunshot rang through the speaker.

Caitlin snatched the mic. "Savitar?"

There was a pause, and she glanced guiltily at Wally, who still hadn't stirred. She'd spoken too loudly that time, but he didn't seem to have heard her, sound asleep.

Finally, a dull "Didn't know they had a gun," crackled out from the other end of the comms and Caitlin closed her eyes. This never got less stressful.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine." He never let her get a full _are you okay_ into the air on these missions, though the opportunity to ask had presented itself plenty of times since he'd first donned the black and blue. She didn't know why, and it didn't stop her from trying to get it out anyway."Bullets are slow. Just grazed me."

Caitlin dropped down into her chair, palms clammy. He was intensely _not_ Barry Allen, but when she didn't have the video feed, the sight of the scars and the cloudy left eye, only exposed to his voice, she couldn't stop herself fretting when he was on the field. It was difficult to listen to someone with Barry's tones when they never seemed to be in a good mood, but that was multiplied by at least eighty percent when there was danger in the area.

A rustle sounded from the right of the Cortex. Wally was awake, rolling onto his back, blinking around the room.

Caitlin was eager to return to a situation she could control—the progress of a patient. She headed for the ointment she'd picked up a few days back, soaking it in a rag and starting on his arms.

"How did you sleep?" she checked, forcing a smile.

Wally nodded, as if that gave her all the detail she needed. Since he'd arrived and regained consciousness, he was fond of asking as many questions as he could possibly ask in one breath. He was ridiculously curious about his predicament, and Caitlin had had a tough time fielding his inquiries, trying to make sure he didn't know too much. Suffice it to say, he knew he was at S.T.A.R. Labs, which she and "a few colleagues" had taken upon themselves to restore from the ground up. He knew this was a top secret deal, kind of like "an underground charity project", and had agreed reluctantly not to probe further. He knew she worked with his rescuer, but he didn't know Savitar's name and hadn't seen him since the rescue had taken place. He knew she was Caitlin Snow and she was there to help, and that he would be good as knew in just a few more days. Sometimes this was enough information for him. Most of the time it wasn't.

"Hey Caitlin?" Wally's throat sounded dry; he reached for the glass of water she offered him. "How long was the longest time you spent in a hospital?"

"About four hours," Caitlin admitted, cocking her head. "I was nine. I had a broken wrist and the waiting room was full. Why?"

"Cuz it's literally the most mind-numbing thing I can think of right now," Wally groaned, pressing the heel of a hand against his closed right eye.

Caitlin chuckled. "That's the price we pay when we're in the wrong place at the wrong time." Satisfied his arms were thoroughly treated, she moved to his legs. "What were you doing at the EXPO, anyway? You said you had a booth there?"

Wally's fingers traced the fragile, healing skin on his right cheek. "I work with this new engineering company. We're trying to get off the ground—my boss thought the EXPO was kinda like the best way to get our foot in the door."

"The other day you told me you work with cars," Caitlin recalled, careful about what she revealed. Really, she knew Wally West's tendencies, his interests, but _this_ Wally had not shared much of anything with her, and if she made one wrong move, he might start asking the kinds of questions she _couldn't_ wave off.

"Uh huh."

"Is that...is that the only thing you dabble in? I mean, mechanically?"

Wally chortled, probably at her choice in vocabulary usage. He did that a lot back on Earth-1. "Uh, no—no, I mess with all kinds of stuff. Mechanically. I like finding out what makes stuff tick, you know?"

"I do," Caitlin grinned at him. "But I doubt the chemical makeup of the human body is as interesting to you as it is to me. I know it can be boring, resting up..." She moved to the white desk, turning on the wall monitors that were facing him. "So it's a good thing we have TV here, huh?"

But Wally shushed her suddenly, waving a hand for her to come back to his bedside, eyes on the screen. Caitlin complied, eyebrows knit, wondering what was so important.

Sandra Peterson was at it again. " _Does Central City have its own guardian angel? Rumors of a masked vigilante continue to pop up all over the downtown area as witnesses trade stories of returned belongings, rescues in the dark, and a mystery blur speeding by. There are no known photographs of this rising phenomenon, but it's clear that it isn't just a few overactive imaginations. Security guards at the Central City museum report seeing a blue-flecked 'shadow' in the building just three nights ago as convicted amateur thief Leonard Snart attempted to steal a priceless painting._ "

The camera flicked to footage of one of the night guards, in full uniform, gesturing with both hands as the museum's patrols filed by in the background. " _I say to my partner, I tell him, 'Call the department, tell 'em Snart's back for more,' and I look away, and when I look again there's this—there's the shadow, and Snart's on the ground, all tied up and ready for prison. And then it's gone, shadow's disappeared again. It was unbelievable._ "

A moment more and Sandra had returned to the spotlight with a different story. Wally turned excitedly to Caitlin, slapping the bed with his right hand. "That was him, wasn't it?"

Caitlin bit her lip. "Who?"

"The shadow! The dude who pulled me out at the EXPO. He was there at the museum, he's here in town still."

"He is," she confessed, handing him a cup of strawberry Jell-O and a plastic spoon. She avoided eye contact, but he didn't take the hint.

"He's a hero, Caitlin. He saved my life."

"I know he did," she assured him, smiling. "And you're right, he—he's definitely on the right _track_ —"

"You know who he is." Wally didn't touch his Jell-O, round brown eyes burning into her.

"I—I wouldn't—"

"I wanna thank him."

"You already thanked him, Wally."

"I know," Wally scoffed, agitated. His hand went to massage his forehead. "But—for real this time. I was all jacked up on pain meds then, I-I can't even remember what he looked like. I gotta see him."

Caitlin sighed. "I told you, he doesn't want that." Wally's mouth tightened, he tried to say something more, but Caitlin persisted. "He's—he's in a difficult place right now. When he _does_ visit you...he'll need to do it on his own time." She rubbed Wally's shoulder, the way she'd seen Iris do multiple times back home. She felt him relax at the touch instinctively. "Eat your Jell-O."

"It's not like it's good for me."

"It is when I mixed it with your medicine," Caitlin retorted, walking back down to the main floor of the Cortex. "Eat!"

The next stop was her quarters. It was a simple metal room with two standard, iron-framed beds and one window. This sort of place was made to accommodate employees of the Labs who had to pull an all-nighter working on a project, or those who had to monitor an experiment for a full 24 hours. Caitlin went to change clothes, pulling out her multidimensional walkie talkie. She wanted her friends.

"Calling Team Flash," she chanted amiably into the bluetooth speaker, clipping it to her ear. "Come in, Team Flash."

Static. Then, "Caitlin?"

"Joe!" Caitlin grinned. "How are you?"

"I don't—know—how to patch this thing through to the whole room, hon, gimme—"

"I got it. Here." There was Barry. The frozen autumn sunlight coming from the window shone brighter.

"Can you hear me?" Caitlin tested, pulling on her silver, cotton-knit sweater and slacks. It felt good to kick off her high heels.

"Loud and clear!" Cisco sounded distracted; his voice was coming from somewhere far away from the walkie talkie.

"How's it going over there?" Barry demanded. His voice was raspy. "You find Savitar a Team Flash of his own yet?"

"Not quite," Caitlin sighed. "The good news is, he's improving on the field flying solo. But—he seems—Barry, he's _aggressive_ with the people he catches." She hadn't realized how much the earlier confrontation had shaken her until that moment. Somehow, knowing Barry was on the other line made it all easier to acknowledge. "It's like he thinks it's his job to _punish_ them, not just bring them to justice."

Barry was quiet for a moment. "He can't just turn off the villain thing right away, Cait," he murmured.

"That doesn't give him an excuse to beat the crap outta any perp he feels like," Joe argued, and Caitlin's hands wrung together.

"I know, I know," Barry huffed. "But you can't forget what he was like before. Where he comes from. It's not like all that's gonna disappear in two weeks."

"It's like he's a druggie." Cisco was chortling in that corner he must've been working in. "Maybe he needs some group therapy."

"Not helping." Iris had entered the fray; Caitlin heard her heels clicking on the floor. "Hey, Caitlin."

"Hi, Iris." Caitlin exited her room, moving down the corridors. "Oh—I forgot to mention—this Earth's Wally is nearly fully recovered," she reported proudly. "He should be headed home any day now."

"That's a relief," Iris sighed. "Has he seen Savitar yet?"

"Not yet, but he's dropping hints. I just don't think it's such—"

A sound, a puffing like a locomotive further down the hall, made Caitlin stop dead.

"Cait? What's wrong?" Trust Barry to read her mind all the way from another Earth.

Caitlin prowled forward, cautious, turning a corner. What she saw made her fingernails grow cold. "I—I have to go."

"Cait—"

"It's okay, I have to—I'll call you back."

She ripped the bluetooth speaker off, stuffing it into her pocket and rushing forward ten feet, toward the east wall. Savitar was still in his suit, hood down, coiled in a sitting position against the aforementioned wall and breathing with great effort. His right shoulder was caked in blood, his hair soaked in sweat.

"What did you _do_?" Caitlin gasped, kneeling beside him.

Savitar backhanded her arm away as she reached for his suit's zipper. "I'm fine," he croaked. "I heal quick."

Age-old anger swelled in her throat as she stared at the red spreading down from the shoulder to his chest. "You said that bullet _grazed_ you!"

"I lied." He clutched his shoulder with his left hand, eyes shut tight. "Not like that's a new thing."

"You do not lie to your personal physician about bullets," Caitlin snapped, moving to unzip the suit again.

And again he jerked out of reach. "You're _Barry's_ personal physician," he spat at her through gritted teeth. His legs wound across the floor with the pain, curling in toward his body and out again as if he were pedaling an imaginary bicycle. "You and _I_ don't have a contract."

"Remind me to write one up after I donate the last of your blood to the nearest laboratory," Caitlin grunted, trying to heave him to his feet.

A short, breathless laugh hissed out of him at that. His head rolled against the wall, he sucked in through his nose.

But the moment she put both hands on his right arm, trying to pull him up, he wrenched it from her grasp, unnecessarily using his speed so that she felt a jolt of electricity run across her wrists.

"I need some space, okay?" he growled, agonized spaces between the words, face just a hair from hers as she crouched beside him. His scars looked angrier than ever.

At first his malevolence—and her indignancy at both not being warned and not being allowed to treat him—was enough to keep Caitlin from trying again for the moment. She stared at him, brain struggling to catch up after Barry's voice had just told her to keep her distance.

Then, because she was herself, she got over it and grabbed his hand, taking him by surprise for the second it took to yank him forcibly into a standing position. The only reason he 'needed some space'—apart from the fact that he was _him_ self—was because he was operating under the same knee-jerk reaction everyone had when experiencing extreme pain while someone tried to touch them. His brain told him that anything else _touching_ him would cause more pain; he felt suffocated when another human being got too close. It was akin to that primal feeling that surged through wounded, cornered animals. Caitlin wasn't interested in his snarls.

Savitar half-yelled, half-groaned for a short moment at the sudden movement, but this time he didn't pull away. Instead, he glared at her, still talking viciously through determinedly clenched teeth. "I don't need you to patch me up every time I break something."

"Tough!" Caitlin's eyebrows bounced, once, and she led him to the med bay—not to be confused with Wally's corner of the Cortex. "You don't have another option."

She let go as he dropped onto the examination table, gripping the side of the bed hard enough to make a dent in the metal.

"I don't _care_ if you heal quickly," Caitlin snapped, gathering her tools. "And—I don't care if you still think you're god enough to live through losing eighty-five percent of the blood in your body. You're not. You get shot, you get medical attention." She brandished her pair of forceps. "That's how this job works."

"That's...cute." Savitar choked out. He didn't move when she unzipped his suit just enough to uncover his injured shoulder. His eyes were shut once more. "You sure know...a lot about this job...for someone who's never—" he broke off, yelling again as she went in to find the bullet.

"Run as fast as you?" Caitlin finished for him, eyes completely focused on her task. "I wasn't talking about _your_ job."

She worked steadily, knowing she didn't need to remind him that pain medication was useless on a speedster. Her heart was convulsing in her chest, but not because of the procedure. This wasn't her first bullet. It wasn't the first time she'd smelled this much blood. It wasn't even the first time she'd treated a _shoulder_ gunshot wound.

Her heart was convulsing because of who she was treating.

She didn't harbor any not-so-far-fetched fantasies that Savitar would suddenly regain the all the strength and ice he'd had on Infantino Street. She didn't think he'd pulverize her the way he had those criminals after this was all over, just because she hadn't given the God of Speed his space. She knew that particular part of him had been weakened by now, because of the way his story had changed. Somehow. If she could believe it fully. Did she?

It wasn't any of that. No. No, really, no, it was because she was on his _right side_ as she worked. She was operating on his right shoulder, so in her peripherals she could see the right half of his face, and it made her hands unsteady. The right half, the unscarred half, the green iris half, the right ear that wasn't burnt and disfigured.

Her brain was on autopilot, healing his injury, doing the sort of thing she'd done over and over again. And because Caitlin's brain was on autopilot, the non-doctor portion was recognizing that side of his face, the chemicals and hormones in her head were telling her _Barry Barry Barry Barry_.

 _Barry got shot._

Barry's losing blood.

Barry was being stupid again.

 _Barry will die if you don't get this right._

The Flash's life was in her hands, as usual, and that instinctive cloud in Caitlin's mind was making her lose her focus.

The speedster jerked, crying out suddenly, and Caitlin realized she'd lost her grip on the forceps and had actually poked the inside of his wound. Her eyes stung, _you're hurting Barry_ , and she turned her head so that her hair shielded his face from her view completely. She needed to concentrate.

It took at least ten more minutes to remove the bullet, clean the wound, and stitch it up. Fleetingly, once she had regained control of her more fundamental thoughts, Caitlin recalled that she could try using her powers to close his shoulder up again. But even after Wally, she wasn't nearly comfortable enough in her own head to risk it a second time. Especially not this second.

* * *

Savitar had remained conscious through the whole process, of course—the original had gone through worse than this—and when Snow leaned over to make sure he was still awake, glassy mismatched eyes dipped into hers. She was shaking.

"You'll be back in shape by tomorrow morning," Caitlin informed him, her words all riding on one breath. " _Don't_ get up yet."

Savitar grunted, shifting just a little. "I don't...want to owe you," he groaned.

"It's a little late for that," Caitlin muttered, eyeing the Hammond Cuff. "You were refusing my help because you didn't want to _owe_ me? Honestly." She threw the forceps down onto the rack. "How childish can you get?"

Savitar leaned his head back. She didn't understand. To be expected. He had done enough. _They_ had done enough _for_ him. He didn't want anyone to do any more. He wasn't sure if it was guilt, or just the desire to ditch the past, run as far away from it as possible. It was all too much. His skull would explode with what he'd lost, gained, taken, wanted, tried. It was better to make sure she didn't do him yet another undeserved kindness. Then he wouldn't have to think of the list and how long it was getting.

"I'm trying to start over, remember?" he huffed, a sneering chortle stuttering out without his consent. It had kind of been over a thousand years since he'd been shot. He was allowed to whine a little. "I...don't need any more...favors."

Her back was to him. "You can't start over if you're dead."  
 _  
You can't start over if you're dead._ The Hammond Cuff was the same temperature as the bandage on his shoulder.

"Barry isn't...afraid."

He didn't know what made him say it. Maybe this was his way of thanking her. Saying the actual two words was becoming a kind of blockage in his mind.

Caitlin turned, complete bewilderment painting her face. It made her nose wrinkle. His good eye fixed on that wrinkle and didn't move. "What?"

"He's not...afraid," Savitar repeated, trying and failing to sit up. Caitlin moved to press a cloth to his bandage lest the injury open again, but he put a hand on her wrist, pushing it away with zero superhuman speed this time. "When stuff like this happens," he rattled out, head craning to gesture to his shoulder. "He's not—scared. Because he knows you're...gonna fix him." Another chortle, slightly bitter. Bitter because of the absence of that security Allen had had? All this time having passed by? His eyes went to the ceiling, the wrinkled nose was gone anyway. "Every time—"

"You need to rest," Caitlin muttered, interrupting him. His head wagged imperceptibly; irritation dripped in the back of his throat, did she never stop _talking,_ why didn't he remember this much talking before?

"Every time...he gets hurt—if you're there, it's...like he's fine. Like—he's gonna be okay." Savitar forced strength into his tone, words coming quicker so he didn't have to pause so often. He was feeling sleepy. Probably the loss of blood. Healing factor or not, he needed blood, and losing that much of it was going to shove him out of consciousness soon. Maybe not for as long as it would an average person, but it was still basically inevitable. Talk faster. "You make him—feel—safe."

From her expression, you would've thought she'd just seen someone collide with a school bus.

Then her eyebrows pinched together. The nose wrinkle made a distracting comeback and she said, tone completely neutral, "What about you?"

The question threw him. What made her ask that? He wasn't Barry Allen. That was the topic of this conversation. Barry. She'd told him he wasn't Barry herself. It was drilled into every cell in his body. His mind flipped pages to avoid the answer to her question. He was sleepier than ever. Shoulder throbbing. It was too hot in this room. Where was his armor when he needed it? Why hadn't he counted on that stupid gun? He was _faster_ than a bullet. Now he owed her.

She was waiting. He thought for a moment. There hadn't been any fear after she'd found him in the corridor. Had there been before? There had definitely been a certain level of _stress_. He remembered thinking, _What happens if I can't stop the bleeding?_ as a flaw in his little plan to avoid her detection. Then she'd come around the corner, and he didn't need to come up with an answer. She'd stop the bleeding. He didn't want her to. But she would, and he was extremely aware of it.

The edges of his vision were going black. Her eyes were ridiculously brown. It wasn't realistic. Who designed them? That shade of brown hadn't been in the Speed Force. The black hadn't reached the brown yet. He was so tired. He couldn't feel any of the fingers on his right hand.

"I guess I'm gonna be okay too," he murmured, resigned. He said it so quietly, with the last of his energy, he held out a small hope she hadn't heard him.

Was that a smile? Smile. Who else had been smiling at him recently? No one else. And they shouldn't. _Was_ she smiling? He couldn't tell. His eyes closed before she completed it. Caitlin said something, he heard it echo off the walls, but he couldn't actually make it out. She never stopped talking. He needed to rest.

The room went dark and Savitar fell asleep.

* * *

 **(I'm too squeamish to Google the actual treatment for a bullet wound. Sue me. He's alive, isn't he? How is this ship shaping up, I wonder? They're not even getting actually romantic yet. This is fun to poke at. -Doverstar)**


	11. Chapter 11: Making A Withdrawal

It was 4 o'clock in the morning when Cisco called her.

"Caitlin, this is very important."

Her room in the bowels of Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs was still and cold and dark. She had been reluctant to even pull one arm out from under the covers to reach for the communicator. There weren't any curtains to cover the window, and far in the distance, she could see the place where the road onto the property turned to connect with the highway. It was a little too easy to imagine the taillights of every car as the eyes of the Reverse Flash, glowing as he stood just outside the fence. Her sleepy mind hadn't used her experiences with Dr. Wells against her in a long time, but distance didn't make it any less effective.

"Cisco," Caitlin grunted, not bothering to morph the walkie talkie into the bluetooth as she rolled over, "I swear, unless Barry is _dying_..."

"No, no, he's fine. He's good. Everybody's all good here." Cisco sounded sheepish. "I was just wondering—like, I know it's been a while, but—"

"Cisco."

"You up for a game of chess?"

Caitlin's legs swung to hang over the side of the bed. The question instantly transported her back to her first day of work after the particle accelerator exploded.

It had been two weeks since the accident, and she'd been bedridden, shattered over Ronnie. She ate very little, things like a single slice of bread or a protein shake, things she knew would keep her body from giving out on her. The bare minimum, because eating didn't matter anymore. She slept fitfully, if at all, and when she woke up in the night she could swear she heard him saying her name. People had stopped coming by to try and console her, but they still called. Even her mother had tried to get ahold of her, but all Caitlin could do was send a one-worded text assuring her she hadn't died in the explosion. Not physically anyway.

When she finally did get out of bed, it was to answer the door.

"Doctor Wells?" Caitlin had mumbled, hair a mess, staring numbly at her boss as he parked his wheelchair on her front step.

Harrison's smile was there, but it was tired. All he said was, "It's time to come back home now, Doctor Snow."

Reporting for duty at S.T.A.R. Labs that afternoon, Cisco had been the first to greet her. The only one _there_ to greet her. Everyone else had gone. She hadn't seen him since Ronnie's funeral, and his eyes were wide and bloodshot when he spotted her. One thought pushed through the fog in her mind, the concern that he hadn't been sleeping either.

He hurried forward, and at first she thought he'd hug her—she wasn't sure she'd be open to a hug ever again—but she didn't have to worry. He stopped short, and there was a moment of silence as they just looked at each other, the echoes of the friend that wasn't standing with them hovering just past their shoulders.

"You up for a game of chess?" Cisco had asked, voice quiet.

So the first thing she'd done when she returned to the place she'd lost her fiancee was not flinging herself into her chores. It wasn't crumpling into a mess in the corridor. It wasn't turning and running away. It was playing a game with the closest thing she'd had to family back then. She remembered winning, but she couldn't allow herself to think Cisco had lost on purpose due to her grief. He had played just as hard as she had, and while they played they talked—about the tie Cisco had worn over his tee shirt that awful night, about improving Dr. Wells' wheelchair, about the employees that hadn't returned to work after their big failure. They argued about which scented candles to light in order to get the gaseous smell out of the Cortex. Caitlin had felt her shell wobble and crack, but if Cisco noticed he was putting her back together, he didn't let on. He just made his popular references and named his pawns and even gave her the cherry lollipop he'd brought in the place of his lunch. It made her warmer to think that after everything they'd lost, he still carried lollipops everywhere he went.

So in those wee hours, when Caitlin heard him ask her again if she wanted to play chess, she knew it was more like a request for a glass of water after running a marathon. Something was hurting Cisco, and he needed her to help him get away from it.

She held the walkie talkie closer to her lips. "We're on parallel Earths. How are we going to play chess?"

Static surrounded his voice. "Ohoho _ho_ , wait till you see what Francesco's been cooking. Pull the antenna up. On the walkie talkie, yup, all the way up."

A moment later, Caitlin was having a kind of multidimensional Skype call with her best friend. The antenna on her communicator acted as a kind of mini projector, flashing a live video large enough to fill the entire north wall of the room. Cisco appeared on camera, wearing a tee shirt that said _I Hate You To The Moon And Back_. Caitlin pulled her bathrobe more tightly around her. Baggy pajamas did nothing on an icy autumn night, especially when your DNA had been altered to produce _more_ cold, instead of pushing it away.

"Cisco, this is amazing," Caitlin breathed, beaming at the display. "Why couldn't you have told me about this feature before, I could've been doing this all along!" She squinted at the background, stifling a yawn. "Why are you still at S.T.A.R. Labs?"

Cisco's torso was no longer in view; he was leaning far out, arms stretching, fiddling with something that was doing a lot of clanging. "I drank too much coffee."

"You could just as easily be reading a book at home," Caitlin muttered. "Or watching one of those sci-fi movies you love so much?"

"Between you and me, sci-fi's really not my thing these days, y'know, what with the whole evil time travel speed god trying to ruin our lives," Cisco muttered back. He pulled back into range. "Okay!" Clapping his hands, Cisco adjusted the camera and picked up something that looked strangely like an 80's video game control stick. "Get ready to lose spectacularly."

Caitlin's nose wrinkled. "But there's no—"

There was a noise like a vacuum being turned off, and a holographic chess board appeared in front of her on the bed. She knew it was holographic because of the static framing its shape, running in and out of the checkered slab of wood.

"You were saying?"

"How did you..."

"Kadabra dropped this when he tried to blow us all up," Cisco admitted, holding up what looked like a very expensive, awfully dangerous wristwatch. "I tweaked it."

He looked so pleased with himself, Caitlin felt guilty for pointing out the flaw. "But holograms are just light particles. It's not like I can move the pawns."

" _Most_ holograms are just light particles. You're looking at a Cisco RamonTM special here. They're like those touch screens on your phone," he informed her, tapping his temple. "They respond to the electricity in the human body. They'll go wherever you swipe 'em."

"That's _very_ clever," she praised him, smiling. "Shall we?"

"Let's."

They played until the first rays of light began shining through Caitlin's window. At one point Cisco swore she was cheating, and by the time they were halfway through, she had cocooned herself in her covers, much to her friend's amusement. He himself had the heat turned all the way up in Earth-1's Cortex, a pumpkin spice latte at his side and several of her pawns captured.

"Why don't I just come over there for a visit?" Cisco asked while waiting for her to make a move. "We can play chess with an _actual_ chess board. I mean, what are my powers for if I can't check out other Earths whenever I get the travel bug?"

"The good of humanity?" Caitlin suggested dryly.

"You right, you right."

"I don't think that would be the best idea," she admitted. Holding up a palm, she added quickly, "Not that I wouldn't love to see you—you know I would—but do you really think you'd enjoy yourself? Savitar hasn't exactly sweetened over time."

"What, like a fruit?" Cisco grunted.

"Besides," Caitlin moved to capture one of his pieces—the first one she'd managed to take. "They need you at home."

"We need _you_ back home too, Caitlin." Cisco didn't even seem to notice she'd stolen his pawn. He was looking into the camera with earnest, sad puppy eyes. "It's not the same without you."

"Are you saying Julian isn't a better physician than I am?"

"Please, Indiana Jones is barely in here," Cisco scoffed. "I'm saying it feels _weird_ when one of us is missing. You know, one of our Golden Trio. Trust me, Team Flash isn't Team Flash when you're not around."

Caitlin didn't respond audibly, hoping her grin was answer enough. She remembered what the Flash had told her before she'd gone to Earth-66, how he looked down at her and made her promise to come back, telling her how much he needed her with them. _I need you too. All of you._ She'd be frozen solid without them.

Cisco was swallowing a sip from his latte. "Seriously. Like, for example, okay—Barry came in here yesterday after a mission out on the river—boat thing, don't ask—with a straight-up head cold. Turns out homeboy forgot water soaking your feet, plus cold weather, equals the sniffles. And here I have these perfectly-good resistant boots I've been saving for the season, and we didn't even think about it!"

"Technically getting wet feet doesn't result in developing a cold," Caitlin corrected, mouth on default. "Although it is true that if you're already carrying the virus, wet feet don't help."

Cisco snapped his fingers. Their game of chess forgotten, he pointed at the camera, leaning back in his seat. "See? That's why we need you here! You would've nagged and told him he couldn't go out without protection and I would've been like, _ayyy, new boots_ , problem solved! And I wouldn't have to listen to him sneezing through the comms all day."

"I do _not_ nag," Caitlin protested.

Cisco's eyes widened. "Oh my bad. You're right, I must've been thinking of a different Caitlin Rosalind Snow, M.D."

"We agreed never to mention my hideous middle name."

"You didn't get it in writing."

She made a face that told him he was insufferable and he gave her a big, cheesy grin that told her he was aware, the pair of them chortling in unison.

"So what about you, how's it going with Team Flash-66?" Cisco sat up straight. "Which is totally its new name, by the way, thank you."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't call it a _team_ , exactly. The only real mission we have seems to be stopping Heat Wave. But that's a lot harder to do when the heat part comes from _him_ , and not from some souped up flamethrower."

"Well yeah, but you have the cuffs, so—just get those bad boys on him and he gone."

Caitlin blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"The cuffs, if you slap those on him—"

"What cuffs, Cisco?" Caitlin demanded, voice sharp.

Cisco's mouth dropped open. "Are you serious right now? I _packed_ you power-dampening, titanium handcuffs. Did you not check the bag I gave you? They were right next to the suit!"

"You're telling me this _now_?"

"They were _right next to the suit_ , Caitlin!"

"How did you fashion power-dampening handcuffs this late into the game?" Caitlin groaned.

"I haven't exactly had a lot of free time, thank you very much," Cisco growled. He admitted a little reluctantly, "Those are just prototypes. I used some of the scrap metal from the Pipeline. No guarantee they're gonna hold anybody for too long, but at least they won't kill them."

"Cisco, why are you really up this late?" Caitlin finally murmured. "Is there something keeping you awake?"

His smile dwindled. "Oh. Uh...I dunno. I guess..." He looked down at the chess board, lifting one of his pieces and letting it dangle. "I guess it's the whole thing with H.R. I mean, he was always—any time the big freaking _Infantino Street_ deadline kept me up, I came down here. I thought—I thought if I kept working, you know, I could figure out a solution overnight. Then we'd be in the clear." He rubbed his nose. "H.R. woke up a couple of times I did it, and..." Cisco let out the last of the tale on one long exhalation. "He brought me some of his stupid coffee, and he'd give me one of his stupid pep talks..."

"Waved his _stupid_ drumsticks around?" Caitlin guessed, a breathy little laugh dancing out, tone breaking.

Cisco smiled, but he didn't laugh with her. Finally he nodded, and kept nodding, and when Caitlin thought he might forfeit the game and call it a night—or a morning—he said quietly, "I really miss him."

"I'm sure he'd be very happy to hear that." She sat back on her palms, watching his image flicker on the wall.

"Aw, god." Cisco did chuckle then, rolling his eyes. "Good thing he's not around. He'd never shut up." His eyelids lowered; he let out a puff of air. "I keep thinking there was something else we should've done. I _know_ there was, he didn't have to do what he did. I get that he died a hero, okay, but...it—"

"It doesn't make it feel any better," Caitlin finished. He glanced up at her, and she pursed her lips. "I felt the same way when Ronnie passed. H.R. did what he knew was right. He wouldn't want you to waste time wishing he hadn't, he _wanted_ to be a hero. He wouldn't want you to waste time at all."

Cisco ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Cait," he sighed.

"Of course."

The video feed on the wall shuddered, and the walkie talkie began emitting a very loud _BEEP, BEEP, BEEP_. Leaping to pick it up, Caitlin turned it around and around in her hands, trying to figure out how to silence it, afraid it would wake Wally, though she knew he was too far away in the building to actually hear it.

"What's happening?" Caitlin asked Cisco's image. The chess board had fizzled out.

"You got an incoming call," Cisco replied, baffled.

"How do I answer it?"

"Hang up on me." Cisco threw an arm into the air, letting it slap back down onto his knee, exasperated. "Guess I'll beat you later."

"Sorry, Cisco." Caitlin pushed the antenna down, and the projection disappeared entirely. Tucking hair out of her face, she held the talk button on the side of the device. "Hello?"

"I found him."

"Savitar?" Caitlin glanced around the room, foolishly, as if he were standing there. "You found who?"

"Rory. He's in a bank in the middle of the city. I saw him go in when I ran past."

Caitlin huffed, pulling on her slippers and heading out of her bedroom, making for the Cortex. "Shouldn't you be resting?" He may have had accelerated healing, but she would've given the shoulder at least one more day without so much dashing around. He barely ever took that suit off.

"I dunno if you noticed," Savitar's voice was tight, "But I don't respond well to your nagging."

"I _don't_ —never mind." Caitlin had reached the Cortex, whispering to make sure Wally remained asleep. "Which bank is it?"

"National."

"You won't be able to catch him without any more injuries—to yourself and others." Snow fought the urge to bite her lip. "Cisco just told me he packed power-dampening devices along with your suit, but they're back here in the Cortex."

She bent down, rooting through the duffel bag she kept beneath the monitors. They were at the bottom of the bag, silver with yellow circles of light all the way around—a gangster's version of a pair of handcuffs.

"They seem self-functioning, but I don't know if you have time to—"

 _FWOOSH!_

Savitar was right in front of her in his suit, very much in her personal space, and she sucked in involuntarily at the sudden company. Where she held one cuff, he was now gripping the other.

"I have time," he told her slowly, pulling off the hood of his outfit.

At his volume, Caitlin's wide eyes cut to Wally's sleeping form. Savitar's head turned; he saw the boy and glanced back at her, finger to his lips exaggeratedly as if _she_ were the one being too loud. He made an intentional 'my bad' grimace, showing surprisingly clean teeth. The expression was so teasingly reminiscent of Barry when he said something that made Caitlin give him _the look,_ she was tempted to deal out the same blow to Savitar himself.

He began moving soundlessly for the exit, as if not wanting to speed out directly in the room Wally was snoozing in. On his way, he turned around walking, pointing to her bedhead. "Your hair looks nice."

Caitlin's mouth drew into a tight line, not at all enjoying being taunted. She did give him _the look_ then. His eyebrows bounced and he pursed his lips at her, tugging his hood back on before speeding out of the building.

Knowing he'd be at the bank in a total of ten seconds, Caitlin counted before huffing into the comms, "Please tell me he isn't setting things on fire already."

He didn't answer right away, though she was sure he'd heard her. Most likely he was deciding whether or not he should entertain her desire to be his 'backup' on today's mission; this preference of his was subject to change day to day. "Doesn't look like it from the inside. Have you always been this high strung or are you just testing me?"

"So he's not drawing attention to himself this time." Caitlin began thinking aloud, tuning out his jibes, brushing more messy locks out of her eyes. "He doesn't want to be caught—he's definitely there to steal something."

"In a _bank_." Savitar's voice was the audio equivalent of raised eyebrows. "Imagine that. Almost like there's something valuable in here."

"How can you be focused if you have time to backtalk me?" Caitlin hissed. Wally was rolling over, wincing; his legs were probably stiff if she had to guess. "And _yes_ , I have always been this high strung." She let the words hang there, a sudden thought occurring to her. _Draw attention to yourself_. "Are you in your suit right now?"

"I changed before I came in," he told her impatiently, as if she needn't have asked.

"Good," she sighed. Bedhead was very ticklish. She wished she'd thought to comb it out before leaving her room. "He'll be on the lookout for the Flash."

"We're lucky I'm not the Flash, then," Savitar grunted.

Caitlin's eyelids flew shut as she realized her mistake. _No. He definitely isn't_. "I mean—the civilians will be watching, so it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Sure." Savitar's dot on the screen was moving slowly through the building. "Now all they have to stare at are the boiled red scars covering one half of my flesh. How's it going?" The last question was obviously directed mockingly to some patron of the bank; the monitors revealed a heat signature he was passing by. To Caitlin he added, in a guttural tone, "Low profile."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. Then they were caught by something thick, a bright group of colors, on the scanner. "There's a massive heat source on the second floor. It can't be anyone else—he's up by the vaults. Don't change into the suit yet," she continued quickly. "I think your best bet with the cuffs is to try and catch him by surprise."

"Is there a mission coming up where I get to make the plan?" Savitar growled, his mark on the screen moving steadily, at regular speed, to the second floor. He definitely sounded like he was ascending stairs. "Or do you get off on bossing everything with a pulse?"

Caitlin considered that one. "Yes."

* * *

Savitar pressed his side against the nearest pillar. The smell from the coffee machine on the first floor filled the building; at 6:30 AM the bankers didn't put up with much until they got their caffeine. Customers were already bustling up and down the busy area, all in nice outfits, heels clicking, briefcases slapping against thighs. Savitar, in his dark jacket and jeans, probably would have stood out even without the scars. No one seemed to notice him, however, as he ducked out of sight. The power-dampening cuffs were warm in his pocket; the ring encasing his suit gleamed distractingly. He was near one of those old school green desk lamps, seated on a nearby table with pamphlets.

Mick Rory looked fidgety when he wasn't setting things ablaze. His eyes were nigh lifeless without the glow from his powers; he was scanning the rows of pristine vault doors, but he looked bored, as if he weren't actually searching for something specific. Savitar felt a creeping along his spine. He knew that look of disinterest, the slack way Rory's arms were hanging down.

"He's waiting for something," he breathed into the comms. Before Team Flash had stopped his paradox problem, Savitar had had no one to plot things out with. He wasn't sure that he liked the change, but now that he had it as an option, he seemed to use it instinctually.

"Like what?" his governess whispered back.

Whatever it was, Savitar wasn't waiting for it too. He had the cuffs. He had the element of surprise. There were maybe two other people on this particular level of the bank; he wouldn't even have too many eyes on him as he carried out the deed. And no one was within sight of him at the moment, behind that pillar. In the time it took to drop a handful of water, he'd changed into the speedster suit, ready to step out and seize the pyro.

" _Freeze_!"

But someone else beat him to it.

Savitar stopped just in time, not giving away his position as he heard the raspy voice coming from somewhere on the stairs; the balcony hid the intruder from view.

Rory turned, suddenly smiling. Finally, something fun was happening. "Freeze?" he repeated, delighted. His skin pulsed cherry red. "I don't do _freeze_."

Savitar tried so hard not to roll his one good eye.

A gun came into view around the bannister first, two strong, tan hands gripping it. "Surprised to see me?"

"Nah," Rory's voice was throaty. "To be honest I ain't given you much thought. Now look—you made me miss my _cue,_ detective. This place'll burn late."

Detective. Savitar stretched out, just enough so that he could see further past the pillar. Rory's fingers acted as lighters, the glow from the flames reflecting off of the glass walls of the balcony.

Brandishing the gun, dressed up in the same kind of monkey suit the rest of the bank's clients could be seen in downstairs, was Eddie Thawne.

He was clean-shaven, and his hair was slightly darker here than it had been on Earth-1. Savitar had trained himself not to show emotion, least of all shock or pain, but seeing this particular boy in blue, alive and kicking, after _so_ long...he didn't realize his breathing had quickened until Caitlin's voice made him pull backward, out of sight again.

"What is it? Who's there?"

"It's Eddie." The name tasted so foreign, Savitar licked his lips. "Eddie's here."

"Eddie?" Caitlin sounded distracted, as if thinking hard.

"Thawne," Savitar supplied. "He's got a gun on Rory."

"Eddie Thawne?" She was sure to wake Wally if she went on like that. "What does he think he's doing?"

"Playing hero," Savitar snorted, allowing one side of his mouth to curl up. "He's good at that."

"He can't know about Mick's metahuman abilities," Caitlin surmised, talking quickly. "He'll be unprepared—he'll get roasted!"

A huge ball of light soared through the air, blasting into the wall just a foot from the top of Eddie's head. Immediately, pandemonium could be heard below. Out of the corner of his eye Savitar could see people pushing for the double doors, the one or two civilians on the balcony shoving past Eddie to descend the stairs.

"I think he'll catch on," Savitar muttered.

"That was just a warning shot, pretty boy," Rory snarled. "Next time you'll lose your hair. What is it this time? Still trying to turn me in?"

"I never stopped," Eddie spat. His too-blue eyes were smoldering as he straightened back up from the crouch he'd dropped into. He didn't seem surprised by the super powers. "I've been tracking you down for months. But this?" He grinned, but there was no joy in it. "Going to the same bank? This was just a _coincidence_." His gun remained cocked. "Mick Rory," he said loudly, deliberately, "you're under arrest for the murder of former police captain David Singh."

Rory's head was tossed back with a bark of a laugh. "Same old song and dance, huh?" He stuck a thumb in his mouth, blowing out his cheeks, and it came away with a flame that caught his entire hand, eyes on Eddie the entire time. Casually, he let the hand rest on the bannister, melting the metal. "You read the papers, Thawne? They don't blame _me_ for what happened to your captain, do they?"

Eddie's jaw was set, his hold on his gun too tight. He wasn't distracted by the oozing rail, focused solely on Heat Wave. "It was a frame job," he snarled. " _You_ shot him that night."

"Maybe," Rory agreed, shrugging. He ran his tongue over his teeth. "You follow your orders. I follow mine."

With that, two long trails of fire reached out for the detective. Eddie rolled to the round, but the heat made the metal of his gun burn slightly orange and he let go of it, coming to a stop in the corner parallel to the top of the staircase.

"Dropped his gun," Savitar informed Snow. "Rory still hasn't seen me."

"Okay, he definitely can't take on a meta without a weapon," Caitlin exclaimed, fully focused, tone sharp. "Get him out of there before anything worse happens!"

"Do I have to?" Savitar sighed.

But before she could berate him, he had Eddie by the back of the jacket, racing from the building, only stopping when they were at least a block away. Eddie staggered when Savitar let go of him, catching his breath. He looked around, head whipping from side to side, and upon realizing where he wasn't he turned to stare at the speedster.

"What did you do?" Eddie panted. "I had him!"

It took him a second. Then he stepped backward halfway, mouth open.

"You're him. You're the—you're the shadow. The one on the news."

Savitar's body and vocal chords vibrated, ensuring Thawne wouldn't be able to pick him out of a crowd. You couldn't be too careful with a face like his. "And you're out of your depth," he told the detective.

"Take me back to the bank," Eddie ordered. He walked forward, unafraid of the speedster. "Take me back. You don't understand. Everything he's done—he _can't_ get away this time!"

Savitar smirked. "He won't."

He was through the double doors in seconds, and Caitlin's voice interrupted the feeling of the wind and the lightning yet again. "You waste an awful lot of time on quips," she informed him.

"You waste time on everything else," Savitar retorted, "but you don't see me griping about it."

" _Actually_ —"

Savitar met Rory on the first floor this time; the bank was deserted at this point. Rory was preparing to hurl a clump of fire at the front desk, but after using a good portion of the heat inside of him against Eddie, it seemed to be taking him longer than usual. His eyes were glued hungrily to the flame that was now the size of a basketball in his cupped hands, growing larger slowly.

Savitar dashed in front of him, the breeze in his wake extinguishing Heat Wave's fire.

Rory scowled, looking around for the source, but Savitar was too quick and he returned to his palms, starting over.

 _WHOOSH!_

No fire.

 _WHOOSH!_

No fire for you.

That was too much for the pyro. Rory's hands curled into fists; after the fourth time, he whipped around, roaring, "Come out and face me like a man, freakshow! I know you're there!"

"So smart." Savitar punched him right across the mouth, savoring the movement so much that he tried the left hook too, just to get it out of his system.

"That's enough!" Caitlin warned. She must've hacked the security cameras again. She'd been doing this more often lately, and he pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly. Couldn't Mommy just _try_ letting Junior out on his own without spying? But he drew away from Rory despite his irritation, energy still coursing through his chest and up his arms.

Blood gushed from between Rory's gritted teeth. "I chose not to burn you last time," he gurgled. "You won't be so lucky today." He lifted a flaming left hand, gearing up to toss.

Savitar, grinning, darted far to the right at the perfect moment—or it would've been, if Rory had actually thrown any fire.

Instead, he revealed Eddie's gun in his _right_ hand, and the bullet went clean through the edge of an unprepared Savitar's left shoulder.

Savitar didn't cry out this time, but playing with Heat Wave was no longer on his Reminders app.

 _Click._

A staggering Savitar had the cuffs on the meta before the bullet that had sliced him landed on the ground. Rory looked down at his bound hands, confused, and noted the speedster standing, grimacing, beside him. Sneering, Heat Wave tried to melt the bonds, and Savitar heard Caitlin murmuring _come on, Cisco_ before a full minute passed by without even the scent of smoke.

"Tell Cisco his toy paid off," Savitar wheezed into the comms. "See you in the Pipeline."

* * *

 **(I'm one of those fans who doesn't hate Iris West and believes Eddie Thawne deserved better. Oh, also, ScareBare may or may not have _actually_ liked Cait's bedhead. We just don't know. And I'm not gonna elaborate on it from his POV. See you guys tomorrow! -Doverstar)**


	12. Chapter 12: Incentives

**(I broke my laptop's wifi card by dropping it unintentionally in the driveway, so I'm having to manually hook it up to a router at the house every time I want to upload a chapter. On the bright side, no wifi means no tumblr, which means no distractions from writing! Enjoy! -Doverstar)**

* * *

When he'd been about to turn twelve years old, he had gotten the stomach bug. Or the flu. Whatever had been going around school that month, no matter how much orange juice he'd loaded up on or how much medicine he took to prepare, he still managed to catch the virus. It turned out to be terrible timing.

He'd been living with Joe and Iris for a whole year, and his birthday would come with the morning. But instead of lying awake in anticipation of the festivities, he was throwing up all over his bed in the middle of the night. The sickness made his muscles hurt and the fever made him cold all over. The blanket had been bright green and the pillowcase was from the house he'd lived in before everything went wrong, when he still had two parents instead of an adoptive detective and hadn't been one room away from the girl he'd had a crush on since elementary school.

He remembered the smell making him sicker as he vomited the pot roast they'd had for dinner. He remembered crying because he could feel himself about to heave again, and he had been hoping desperately that he was finished now. And it was dark, and he was alone. And he did not feel good.

The light flicked on. "Barry!"

It was Iris, her pajamas pink, her hair frizzy, her right arm tattooed with corduroy lines. She'd been sleeping hard, but not hard enough to drown out the sounds from her friend's room. He would have been embarrassed by the mess surrounding him and the tears on his cheeks—he was going to be twelve in a few hours, this was not how a middle schooler should react to the stomach bug—but Iris didn't laugh or slowly back out of the room.

Instead, she said, "Gross—I'll get Dad!" and ran into the hall.

True to her word, she returned with Joe a moment later. The detective took one look at the boy's chalky face and bent over, pulling the soaked blankets away. He lifted the sick child bodily out of the bed.

"Come on, son, let's go."

"M'sorry, Joe," he sniffled, arms held awkwardly away from his dirty pj's.

"Nothin' to be sorry about, Bar', you can't help it."

Iris followed them out. "He can sleep on my floor, Daddy."

"Nuh uh, then I'm gonna have two kids throwing up and missing school. You get back in bed, Baby."

Joe ushered him into the bathroom, where he knelt before the porcelain throne, hands shaking as his body tried to empty a stomach that didn't have anything left to toss up. He could feel tingling in his cheeks. The bathroom floor was freezing. The Wests were arguing out in the hall.

"But it's Saturday tomorrow."

"Iris, go to back to bed."

"Where's Barry gonna sleep?"

"He'll sleep on the couch downstairs, don't worry about it."

A moment later, after the boy had taken a quick, very hot shower and changed into one of Joe's tee shirts. Detective West led him down to the living room, where he'd covered the sofa in a bedspread, quilt, and throw pillow.

Joe helped tuck him in. "You gonna be all right, Bar'? You don't feel any more coming, do you?"

He shook his head, face warm, eyelids heavy.

"Want me to stay up with you for a li'l bit, or you think you can fall asleep on your own?"

A flicker of movement in his peripherals showed him that Iris was on the stairs, just barely visible around the corner, watching them. He nodded hard, though his throat was sore and the fever reminded him vividly what had happened in another living room around this time last year.

Joe rubbed his leg gently. "Get some rest, son. I'll see you in the morning."

Then the lights were off, and it was late, and he was shivering by himself. The neighborhood was still outside the window, and an airplane was soaring past overhead. He could hear it, it rattled the photos on the mantle. The rattling sound put his heart into his mouth, the heat in his skin and behind his eyes had him terrified to see a flash of electricity anywhere in the dark.

"I want my mom," he whispered into the empty room, after glancing back up to see if Iris was still hiding on the landing. His cheeks were wet again. "I want my dad."

It was too hard to be just him in that living room. It was too dark and he could still taste the pot roast and his feet felt like they were going to tremble right off his legs. He sat up. The corners of the room seemed to get darker every time he looked at them, and he did so often, checking for a hint of lightning, for red eyes and a towering figure in yellow.

" _If I turned this light off now, would you be scared?_ "

He pressed the back of a hand to his right cheek. His skin felt hotter than ever, it hurt to touch it. The plane was gone, but he could swear there was still roaring. He could swear the rattling hadn't stopped. He twisted around, staring wide-eyed at everything he could see. He couldn't turn fast enough, he couldn't make sure there was nothing everywhere at once. His eyes stung and the couch was balmy beneath both palms.

He stopped when his eyes reached the dining room behind him. Something had caught in the moonlight coming from the window, and he flinched when it glinted at him—then he saw that it wasn't yellow or red, it was blue.

" _See_ , _you're not afraid of the dark, Barry. You're afraid of being alone in the dark._ "

He got up, cautiously feeling for the switch on the wall. When the dining room had been illuminated, all the fear went out of him. And it wasn't because he'd turned on the light.

A big, plastic blue banner had been stretched across the doorway, and in vibrant paper letters it read, _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BARRY!_ all in gold. There were stickers of Dragonball Z characters slapped on every visible surface of the room, all at Iris' maximum reach. Coils of kitchen tinfoil were taped to the ceiling and curled around the display case. A real, professional microscope with a purple ribbon around its base sat on the table, beside three other fully-decorated gift bags and boxes. A tape roll was on its side on one of the chairs, and Joe's favorite mug still had cold coffee sitting in it, weighing down a roll of scarlet wrapping paper. Iris had left one of her hair scrunchies on the floor; she always took them off at the last second before bed.

" _And that goes away when you realize something—you're never really alone._ "

He climbed back onto the couch, tugging the blanket right up to his chin, eyes on his name in gold hanging behind him. He may not have his mother or father anymore, but he wasn't alone. He had people who would offer their bedroom floor if he was sick, people who cleaned him up in the middle of the night after puking all over their clean sheets. Someone to give him their shirt and rub his legs and call him Bar'.

Even the fever couldn't make him afraid anymore, and he fell asleep smiling.

That memory didn't belong to Savitar. He could recall every detail and feeling, but the people who had been closest to him once would swear it hadn't happened to him, that it wasn't his. He didn't know why it was the first thing he thought of on the run back from the bank. Maybe it was the same feverish ache he felt after a bullet had just torn through his body.

The only thing more agitating than being shot in the shoulder— _twice—_ was having to run back to S.T.A.R. Labs with Heat Wave in tow seconds later. Not only was he heavy, smelly, and very angry, but even after they arrived he would not _shut up_. He wasn't raging about how he was going to escape. He was mocking his captor. Currently the thing that had wrought the most fascination was Cisco's Flash suit.

"Fancy getup you got there, freakshow. How much, uh, how much superglue you use to stick those little lightning bolts on your head? They fly off a lot?"

"What is that, leather? My cousin wears leather. He's in a gang. 18. Thinks he's hot stuff. You two'd get along."

"Too bad you didn't think to make it with a little Kevlar. They make it in black."

Savitar dragged him to the Pipeline, slowing when he reached the first empty cell. Really, he'd been moving slower and slower ever since they'd arrived at the building due to his injury, and his prisoner was not improving his mood. Neither were the too-bright emergency lights coming from every wall, or the ridiculous shade of blue inside the cell they approached.

"So much metal..." Rory breathed, staring around him. The whites of his eyes were turning pink. "What I could do to this structure..."

Savitar raised his eyebrows, not impressed. "You could die in it," he offered, deadpan.

The meta did not seem at all fazed. Rory jerked, as if he hadn't learned that his parole officer would only grip tighter every time he did. " _Me_ die?" he hissed, a huge smile playing about his face. "I'm not the one with a chunk taken outta my casing." He nodded to Savitar's bleeding shoulder. "Can't outrun a hole that big, speedy."

"You're right," Savitar nodded, thinking it over. "I've got accelerated healing properties, though, so—" He hit the side of his head with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, big words— _I get better fast_."

Rory actually growled at him. "When I get outta this place, it's gonna melt on top of you. You'll choke on your own clubhouse."

"I've been through worse," Savitar countered, tapping the necessary keys on the wall to open Heat Wave's cell door. He tossed the pyro inside and sealed him in, clutching his shoulder.

"Feeling that bullet now, are we?" Rory called from behind the glass, noticing the movement. "Blessed with fire...I keep forgetting guns used to be my favorite."

Savitar winced, glancing at the glove of his suit as he let go of his shoulder. More blood to clean out. He only had the one costume. "Like I said—I've been through worse."

Rory stared at the speedster, face a picture of delight at his enemy's pain. His eyes lingered on the raspberry red color mixing with the charcoal of the costume, as if drinking it in. The cuffs still tied his hands together, and his legs were visibly shaking with the obvious effort of trying to melt them off and getting nowhere. Sweat trickled down his forehead.

"Besides," Savitar went on carelessly, smirking over at the pyro, "I've got a quick fix. Watch this."

Compliant or possibly just bored already, Rory pressed his nose to the glass, as if waiting for some epic display of superhuman abilities.

Instead, Savitar tilted his head back and whined as if tattling, unnecessarily loudly into his comms, "Caitliiin, I got shot again!"

It took about three minutes, but Caitlin eventually appeared around the corner in her white lab coat, face like thunder. She was wearing black slacks and a light blue sweater, and her hair was no longer the fluffy mess it had been just an hour ago. She held a fresh roll of bandages in one hand.

Savitar jutted out his lower lip to her, then made the same face to Rory, whose eyes were now trained on the bio-engineer with something that looked a little too intelligent to be ignored. But Savitar had turned back to Caitlin before noticing Rory's surprised expression, folding his arms with a slight wince.

"You, medical wing, now." Caitlin snapped her fingers and pointed to the exit. Her tone was biting.

Savitar, undaunted, wordlessly flashed out of the corridor. With a neutral glance at Rory, who grinned toothily at her, Caitlin slid her hand over the panel on the wall, allowing her palm to be scanned. The final metal door collapsed over the glass, shielding Heat Wave from all sights and sounds apart from the ones in his own cell.

* * *

"How?" Caitlin wrung out a rag she'd soaked in ointment, squeezing a little harder than she needed to to rid it of excess liquid. Her tone was icier than ever. " _How_ do you manage to get shot twice within the span of _three days_? Why is this the second time I have treated a bullet to the shoulder this week?"

"I wanted a matching set," Savitar replied dryly.

Caitlin hardly heard him. She was on a roll. "You have to be smarter!" She slapped the rag down on his wound and he thrashed once, hissing through his teeth. "You're telling me the man who hoodwinked Central City's finest detective, three scientific geniuses and one experienced superhero doesn't think to make sure the _only_ practical weapon in this situation was taken care of?"

The speedster made a wet sound in his throat before snarling, "I _didn't_ 'hoodwink' you. I failed, you all won. Remember? That's why we're _here_."

Caitlin pressed harder as she cleaned the blood off of his arm. "That was the most basic of metas," she reminded him, ignoring his bitterness. "Fire powers? You've dealt with those a hundred times over."

"Yeah, my Speed Force nightmare was being chased through Pompeii by the Human Torch for an eternity," Savitar grunted.

She still wasn't listening. The rag was almost completely bright red now, and she didn't seem to notice. "All you had to do was apply the power-dampening cuffs and come straight back here. Simple physics, the basest strategy. That was the plan. Instead a bank is burning, Eddie Thawne could've been killed—again _—_ and you screwed up and got yourself shot through the shoulder! _Again_!"

"I got the guy, didn't I?"

"It was _stupid_!" Caitlin wet the rag again, but it only got the ointment dirty with blood. She wasn't focusing on what she was doing. She went to apply the bandage, wrapping it too tightly, making that red too.

"Agh, Snow—"Savitar's teeth ground together, she was doing this wrong, his entire arm hurt. "Snow—"

"No! No, you can't talk your way out of this, it's too late! You never think, and I'm left behind to prepare for who _knows_ what crazy damage you'll do to yourself next. If I weren't here, what would you do when people like Mick Rory—" Too much pressure, the bandage was too tight.

"Stop—"

"You take too many risks, Barry!"

" _Caitlin_!" Savitar grabbed her wrist, yanking it effortlessly away from his wounded shoulder.

The world went black and white for a second.

Her mouth stopped moving at last. Her eyes cleared when she looked at him, and he saw her pupils trace his scars. The color in her face went from fully saturated to practically nonexistent. He was probably gripping her too hard, but his brain was caught on what she'd called him, the way your shirt gets caught on a bramble.

It was too familiar. The scolding, the way he couldn't get a word in, even the color of the sheets on the operating table were the same. How long had it been since he'd made Caitlin Snow angry like this? How long since he'd returned from a mission just to have her in his face, patching him up with her hands and tearing him down with her electric looks and her tone?

Glaring at each other, for a moment he _was_ Barry again, and he was in the Cortex instead of the med bay, and Cisco was watching awkwardly from his desk as they snapped at each other. The fight went out of his gaze at the feeling, and he let go of her.

"Sorry." Caitlin pulled her arm in close to her chest, turning away. "I'm sorry. I'll start over," she muttered, beginning to unwrap his bandage slowly.

Savitar nodded, leaning back onto the mattress. "Where do you go?" he asked suddenly, almost suspiciously. Maybe changing the subject. More likely dismissing the incident.

She was quiet, as if afraid to speak again. She might not think he deserved conversation after this latest stunt, and would stitch him up and click away in her heels. But after a moment she asked, voice like cotton, "What do you mean?"

"You're not here in the evenings," he grunted. "You don't have another job, and it's not because you don't know how to do anything else. What's had your attention while I was out looking for Rory? You and your _team_ partying in the multiverse without me?"

If she was surprised he'd noticed her absence, she didn't show it. "Actually I've been...attending classes."

Disappointing. Savitar waited for elaboration. The bandage was almost used up.

"I met this Earth's version of Martin Stein," she explained, and her tone was stronger, as if relieved to be moving away from the mistake she'd made seconds ago. "His wife is in critical condition, possibly because of Kyle Nimbus."

"The Mist."

"You remember that?" Caitlin blinked hard, shaking her head a little as if wanting to kick herself mentally. "Sorry. Of course you do—anyway—he just...he seemed lonely, and I couldn't help it. I've had coffee with him a few times—"

"He's a little old for you, isn't he?" Savitar's lip curled up into something dangerously close to a patronizing smile and he turned to look at her at last.

Caitlin did not dignify that with a direct response. "He suggested I check out a few of his lectures. He's turned Earth-66's Hudson University into his own experimental corporation, but he still teaches night classes on nuclear fission and transmutation—"

"So you're feeding your science bug." Savitar's cup of care had emptied. He rolled his head back to the other side. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Excuse me?"

"Stein." Savitar glanced at the ceiling. "And Wally. An engineer, a genius. You wanna build me a little team before you run back to the real Flash."

She didn't deny it.

"There's just one _tiny_ flaw in your plan." Savitar sat up, though pain jolted through his arm. "I'm not the Flash. And I don't need a team. I don't need you. I don't need Wally, or Stein, or anybody else."

Caitlin was staring at him, face emotionless. When had she learned to control her expression the way he did? Had she always been able to? He couldn't remember. It was probably conditioned for her doctor's practice, not to show alarm in order to keep the patient calm. She was remarkably good at it.

"No one can get by in life on their own," Caitlin told him matter-of-factly.

Savitar let out a long, exaggerated sigh, taking the clean gray shirt she offered him, one of the ones he'd packed. His wound was patched. "Here we go."

"Everyone—especially _time remnants—_ has been dependent on at least two other human beings in order to survive during the course of a lifetime." She was going into scientist mode, he could tell by the metal in her words. "It's in our nature to lean on others. By ourselves we don't get far. I _know_ you remember needing people," she added sharply. He didn't look at her. "You remember wanting people by your side. I know that's why you agreed to come here—and I know that's why you're being the Flash again." She had discovered his motive.

His eyes flickered between both of hers, went down to the small smile she was now wearing. Something twisted in his chest. He couldn't tell whether it was negative or not. He'd been so hollowed-out for so long, he wasn't sure how to name his own feelings.

"Or—whatever you're calling yourself," Caitlin amended, holding up a hand. "You said we abandoned you," she went on, folding her arms around herself. "That we... _forgot_ you, in the future. You told Barry that was why you became Savitar. The 'God of Speed'. You recruited acolytes and followers so that you wouldn't be forgotten again, but..." She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "It's better to help people—to feel their genuine gratitude and—and real _love_ from the people you rescue in that suit...than to be worshipped as a god, just because they're afraid of you."

He tried to swallow, but he couldn't. Settled for looking at the Hammond Cuff still around his wrist, on the outside of the costume. She didn't get to do this, to probe him and try to clean him out the way she had his bullet hole. She was Barry's little nurse, Cisco's best friend, Joe's teammate, Wally's advisor. By extension, she wasn't allowed to understand. It felt like someone had signed their name on the inside of a journal he'd kept his whole life, without his permission, and he'd just opened the front cover to see it there, in contrast to his own handwriting. It didn't feel intentionally deleterious, but it didn't feel correct, either.

"You might not think about it too much when you're out there, but—you've been _saving_ lives instead of taking them, or—or—corrupting them." Caitlin let out a small laugh, the kind you release when something is unbelievable, when it's ironic and there's a little bit of pain from the past barely mixing with the good that brings the laugh. "If you keep that up...no one is going to forget you in a hurry."

 _You're afraid of being alone in the dark._

"And you won't be alone anymore." She picked up the basin of ointment, the bloody rag floating in it, making her way out of the room. "Whether you like it or not."

* * *

 **(Next chapter coming soon, Jell-O Squares! Thank you for your continued patience and support, my friends. I love your reviews to pieces and often read them more than once a day! -Doverstar)**


	13. Chapter 13: Roadblockers

**(Sorry for the delay, Jell-O Squares! Don't be too disappointed in this chapter. 3 AM is not a good time to be writing anything. -Doverstar)**

* * *

The boy in front of Caitlin was asleep.

She had been diligently taking notes, glancing up every now and then to copy some new algorithm Stein had jotted onto the whiteboard, when her pen slid in a jerk as the student sitting just a foot before her let out a loud snore.

Professor Stein did not appear to hear it and plowed on in his lecture. He had been stuck teaching on time travel for the past three days, though he had admitted privately to Caitlin that his outline for the year had been focused solely on transmutation. His students didn't seem to mind the change in course—time travel was just as fascinating as transmutation, especially to someone like Caitlin, who had experienced its repercussions for herself.

As the class dismissed, Caitlin pulled her bag over her shoulder, passing the still-snoozing boy as quietly as she could. Part of her wanted to wake him in the most alarming fashion possible, as punishment for falling asleep in the first place, but she decided it wasn't worth the effort. Besides, she wanted to catch Stein before he left.

"Professor Stein," she called, hurrying down to the main floor where he was wiping down his demonstration board.

"Ah, Miss Snow," Stein turned around with the same dazed look in his eyes people wore after coming out of a particularly good book. "I must say, I'm delighted you could find the time to attend so many of my rather formidable lectures. This will be your, what is it, your seventh class with us, won't it? I know my lessons can sometimes feel interminable." He nodded to the boy snoring in the seats. "I appreciate your _sticking it out_ , shall we say."

"Oh, it's—believe me, it's my pleasure," Caitlin assured him, beaming as she readjusted her bag's strap. "Speaking of time," she added quickly, "I thought you said this was a course on transmutation?"

Stein's glazed appearance wavered. He set the eraser down, licking his lips. "Yes, well, it _was_. That is, I had every intention of conducting a study on the subject, but...I suppose once I get started on—on such an expandable topic as time travel, it takes a while to get back on track."

"Why the sudden interest in it?" Caitlin wondered. "Time, I mean?"

It took him a moment to respond. There was a distance in the way he hunched his shoulders, in the way he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Caitlin recognized his expression; then she knew the answer to her question before he gave it.

"While the theory has always been a point of great interest to me—bordering on obsession, if I'm to be honest—lately I find myself more immersed in it than ever before." Stein glanced at the empty whiteboard, searching it with tired, lonely eyes. "With my wife drawing nearer and nearer to the end of her own timeline...I can't help but travel back to a day where it wasn't so difficult for her, the years during which she was at optimal health, able to stand at my side..." He sniffed, standing a little taller. "Imagining it as a possibility _feeds_ the obsession, if you will."

Caitlin didn't want to disrespect him, or speak out of place. She held this man in high esteem, both on Earth-66 and her own. Back home she had helped him survive and adapt to the impossible, had gotten to know him and his daughter, had been able to count him a friend. Here they had shared coffee and theories and he had released just a taste of his personal life, just a drop of the ache he felt for Clarissa, he had confided in her. He had lived a long, successful life already and could very well go on to achieve even more with the years he had left. But as intelligent as Martin Stein was, as well-read and educated and _talented_ as he was, he was still just an old man, afraid of facing the rest of his life without his best friend. His partner.

Doctor Snow had lived his nightmare for herself. There was an added pain for her. Not one that made hers deeper than Stein's, but one that made it different. She had lost _her_ partner before their life together could truly begin. Ronnie had been taken from her too soon; they would never grow gray and slow with one another, she would never reach back and find as many memories as Stein could. She only had a certain number, and she was loathe to let go of even a second she remembered spending with the man she loved.

That was why she had committed to helping him. She couldn't let him lose Clarissa. Barry's lungs had been corrupted once by Kyle Nimbus' abilities; even if he had the advantage of his own superhuman DNA, there should be a way to save Stein's wife as well. She could shake it—perhaps not in the same way or with the same speed Barry had, but it _had_ to be possible. The key was to find the meta first. Caitlin had to be sure of his mutated properties before coming up with a solution; for all she knew, Earth-66's Mist had a different genetic code than the one on Earth-1. But once they had him, they could begin tests, they could find a cure.

Of course, she hadn't told Martin this yet.

It wouldn't be right to get his hopes up—and there was the small matter of explaining herself and her skills and her experience with Nimbus should she decide to come clean. It might mean telling Stein _everything_ in order to gain his approval, his belief in what she'd say. And coffee chats or no, they were not quite there yet in this little professor-student friendship.

Stein rubbed his hands together. "Listen to me. Not to worry, I won't go senile just yet, Miss Snow. Endlessly prattling on about the _good old days_. There is more to life than the things gone by—I talk far too much about the past already. And I am of the opinion that one should stride forward instead of spending all of one's time focused solely on what they've left behind. I assume you agree?" His eager old eyes searched her face, looking for the usual enthusiasm and compassion they found there.

Caitlin, lost in thought, started when he said her name. "Absolutely," she stammered, not sure what she was responding to. "Professor—I've been meaning to ask you—the man you told me about. The one that attacked your wife."

Stein's jaw tightened, but he gave a single nod, urging her to spit it out.

"Well, this might seem like a silly question, but...have you looked for him at all? I mean, do you have anything to go off of, did anyone happen to give you a description?" Caitlin wound the heels of her hands against each other, meeting his twinkling dark eyes.

"Not as such, no," Stein murmured. He lifted a finger, heading for his desk and straightening it up a bit as he spoke. "But there are witnesses from that terrible night, people who saw what Clarissa saw. The trouble is, the culprit seems to have distorted his own person too quickly before anyone could get a good look at him. No one can give me a clear image."

Caitlin paused, trying to think of the best way to tell him. She couldn't just say _Yeah, his name is Kyle Nimbus and I have somewhere perfect to stash him_. Even someone with as open a mind as Stein would write her off as a lunatic; it was too soon, she needed more time to nail things down. But he had to have some kind of hope. She couldn't stand by and watch him drown in his problem when she knew there may actually be an answer.

"Professor," she began, clearing her throat. "I wanted—"

Stein smiled at her, but it was a thin one. "I do not ask for pity, Miss Snow. Don't get me wrong. Clarissa's predicament is my burden to bear, and I'd hate to be accused of complaining. Everyone has their own weight to carry, and mine is no greater than yours." His brow furrowed. "Or Mister Jefferson there."

He strode purposefully to the sleeping boy, picked up the student's binder, and rapped him soundly over the head with it in one hand.

'Mister Jefferson', only roughly 18 or 19 by the looks of him, jolted upright with a yelp.

"Jefferson, how can the mysteries of the universe set your young mind ablaze if you won't even prepare a spot for the fire, hmm?"

Jefferson squinted at his professor. "Did I fall asleep again?" he slurred, clearly suffering from a case of napper's-mouth.

Stein's eyebrows rose so high they could've graced the arching metal ceiling. "Again?"

Caitlin bit her lip, but it wasn't because something was bothering her. She was trying very hard not to laugh at the groggy kid's expression. "I'll see you tomorrow, Professor," she called. She could tell him about her plans later. Besides, this gave her more time to sort out the details first.

Stein was too busy giving poor Jefferson a _second_ , more biting lecture to see her leave.

* * *

Savitar was hungry and unashamed.

Before, when he had been in the thick of convincing the world he was a god, he had had to eat anything and everything in secret locations. Because gods did not need to eat. They didn't feel pain and they didn't need to eat, but until he could actually become immortal, he had to appease his superhuman appetite discretely. If someone saw the God of Speed downing twenty-five Big Belly Burgers, no matter how impressively, they might start to question his title.

Now, having given up on being a god, he was free to eat wherever and whenever he wanted, regardless of prying eyes. Did it look odd to see a speedster in a dark leather suit lounging on the roof of a Wendy's with a chocolate frosty and forty discarded fry cartons beside him? Cartons he sometimes dropped over the edge onto passers-by out of sheer boredom? Yes. Not as odd as it would have looked in his previous, metal suit—which had been laid to rest, dormant, in his old lair on Earth-1—but the sight was still fairly ridiculous.

As a speedster, his body required far more energy, far more _calories_ than the average runner did. And when he ate enough, he'd just burn it off within the next 24 hours. Result: he, just like Barry, Wally, Jesse, and Jay, was always, _always_ hungry. He simply didn't have to worry about who knew it anymore. It was freeing.

Today was quiet in Earth-66's Central City. He'd taken to exploring when things were quiet here. This Earth had a few differences in location—certain shops and gas stations were not where they were supposed to be, and the explosion from Earth-66's particle accelerator had actually permanently compromised some of the plant life closer to S.T.A.R. Labs' neck of the neighborhood. There was definitely a tang in the air that wasn't going away any time soon—he felt it inside of him, in his meta half, he sensed the energy of this Earth rippling with the aftertaste of an experiment gone wrong. Without anyone to race over and rescue, he didn't have anything to do but think. And a duplicate had a lot of thinking to do.

Caitlin had been right. He didn't want to be forgotten. In fact, he was terrified of it. He _was_ playing hero to keep people looking. Did he feel a spark, a splash of satisfaction when someone took his hand as he pulled them from some kind of wreckage? When they looked at him from far away and mouthed _thank you_ after he had chased off the danger and kept his distance? He did—but not the way Barry Allen used to.

It was as if his heart were a painter's palette. When Team Flash of 2024 had turned their backs on him, they had each taken a color out, until only black and gray were left, until all he felt was the bitterness and the loneliness. Now, every time he helped someone, a drop of color was added to the empty sockets. Just one drop in one area, but it was something where there had been nothing. It was a strange sensation, recognizing feelings he'd smothered for eons. It was stranger to think of how he should respond to gaining them. Mostly he felt hard and broken still, reluctant to tap into any positive emotions he might feel lest they go away too.

He had been colorless for such a while—red, yellow, blue, green—any new shade might hurt, and he was so tired of hurting.

Caitlin hadn't interrupted him on the comms all day. It was night now, and Wendy's had closed an hour ago. He ran down the side of the building, knowing his governess would be on her way back from Stein's little sci-fi convention by now. He would make it to S.T.A.R. Labs before she did, which meant he'd get to head to bed without being asked a barrage of questions regarding the day's activities.

She had been aloof with him for the past few days, ever since he'd caught Rory—at the expense of a shoulder. Not that she hadn't always been aloof with him. But more so lately, more so since she'd had her little relapse of missing _Barry_ while she stitched him back up. He didn't miss her nagging or her constant staring when she thought he wasn't watching. But it was true that the absence was suddenly an obvious thing to him, that now he _noticed_ it. He noticed she wasn't in the Cortex unless she was tending to Wally. He noticed she wasn't on the comms when he went on little missions. He noticed she was at Jitters more often, noticed she was calling Team Flash more and more frequently in the mornings. He could hear her talking to them; S.T.A.R. Labs' sleeping quarters were all in the same general area of the building. Her conversations with Earth-1's heroes ran longer every time she contacted them.

He couldn't understand her. He couldn't understand her desire to help him—unless she wanted to _fix_ him, as he had suspected all along. There wasn't a point, anyone could see that. Her little Team Flash-66 idea was off to a pretty rough start. Stein only met with her once every other day, and probably wasn't at all in the know for it. Wally was almost fully recovered by now, so he'd be leaving the Labs soon, and he knew only a sand grain more than Stein did. If Caitlin couldn't build him a team—and he didn't _do_ domestic labor—what could she hope to do for him here? Hadn't he made it difficult enough?

Trees and highways blurred past as he made his way to S.T.A.R. Labs, catching sight of the sickly yellow electricity following him, reflected in the windows of cars rendered still as he raced past.

As aforementioned—a dead horse beaten thoroughly—he remembered being Barry. There is a _lot_ in one person's memory, and being a time remnant didn't diminish the flashbacks. It increased them, because there was an added awareness, an awareness that none of it had actually been experienced by _this_ body, _this_ mind.

Specifically, he remembered being _Caitlin's_ Barry, the one that made her snarl and huff, the one that had her running no matter what she was wearing or how far away he was, because she had to get to him and help him up, stop the bleeding. He remembered a face without scars that she wasn't afraid to get physically close to when the situation called for it, a face she didn't shield herself from with her hair or turning on a heel.

He remembered looking at Caitlin Snow and seeing a mountain, something immovable and powerful. He had meant it when he said Barry Allen was safe when she was around. He could recall being unable to breathe or unable to walk, often tasting blood, less often coughing out an unknown, superhuman substance. And whenever everything was dangerous and spinning like that, if she came into the room, onto the side of the road, at the edge of a body of water, in the back of a van with her doctor's instruments at the ready, he was completely okay. He was calm again, because if Caitlin was there, he knew that soon—in a few hours or just a second more of pain—none of it would matter anymore and he'd be back to normal.

And that was just the physical assurances. Emotionally, if he couldn't find his footing, she was there every time. She wasn't the only person he'd gone to to feel balanced again, but there was something in her that understood him better than the others. Caitlin had been through so much suffering, and she'd come out of it, and when she spoke to him he could feel her quietly _sure_ he would come out of it too. Even as their conversations began, just by hearing her, he would breathe more evenly. He was being convinced, maybe even subconsciously, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and that her footsteps, leading unsteadily to the exit, were already printed in the mud before he'd stepped into the dark himself.

He had, in his head, an entire three years' worth of friendship with this woman and, like with everything else Barry had left his remnant, Savitar had to learn to process and discard those memories. Because ultimately those were things he had never done and never felt and never said. _All_ of it was. Not just with Caitlin Snow. With everyone, everything. None of it was actually his—no wonder there had been no room for him on Earth-1; everything he recalled as his, in reality, already belonged to someone else. Iris, Joe, Wally, Cisco, Caitlin, S.T.A.R. Labs, the CCPD. It hurt to remember having a place somewhere, having people of his own, and to be hit with the fact that—every time—Barry Allen possessed every inch of it.

And he wasn't Barry Allen.

He had to find his own common ground with Doctor Snow, but wearing someone else's face made it even harder than it should have been. She knew him and she didn't. They were both dealing with the same bizarre obstacle. Where it made her nervous, struggling to regain control of the situation, it just made him angry. Angry that he had to be reminded _again_ that he had been born with a life he wasn't allowed to pull up as a reference guide. Angry that she couldn't look at him and treat him the way his memory told him she should treat him. Angry that she had insisted on coming here, on meddling and simpering and ordering him around. Trying to turn him into someone he had already been shown he couldn't be. She wanted to rewrite him into Barry Allen—and he was torn between wanting her to treat him that way and wanting her to stop wishing he was someone else. He remembered being friends with Caitlin. He wasn't used to her disappointment. It irritated him.

But time had taught him not to care this much about it. Caring made you hurt in the long run. It was cliché, but the best way to guard himself from the agony and the eventual hate that had ripped him in two and killed H.R. was to keep his distance. So he wouldn't dwell on it. Despite Caitlin being the only person from the core Team Flash to be left with him on Earth-66, despite everything inside him being naturally drawn to her for this reason, he would lean away. He would warn her backward with looks and growls and bullet wounds. He didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want her advice. He didn't want her company or her time or her agenda for him. He didn't need her. She was extra, she was optional, and in order to keep the possibility of rejection at bay without becoming a god, he would let her be aloof. He would let her learn the hard way, slowly as she liked, that he would not be her experiment. That she didn't know him and she was just like the others—preferring the original, only room for one Barry. Conditional.

By the time he reached S.T.A.R. Labs, he was hungry again. Caitlin had a kind of addiction to strawberry Jell-O, he knew. He also knew it was always located in the mini fridge on the dais in the Cortex.

With his costume still on, he snagged a cup of Jell-O and a plastic spoon. Of course, it was empty in half a second, and as he was reaching for a second cup, a voice stopped him.

"I knew it."

Savitar's arms swung down, his weight shifted from foot to foot, his head hung back. Body language equivalent of a sigh.

Wally was sitting up, legs hanging off the gurney he had been confined to, eyes on the speedster with something fragile shaking in them. Something similar to what his acolytes had when they looked at him. Hero worship.

"I knew you were still here," Wally went on, pointing to him shakily. "She said you were out there helping people, but she never said you lived here."

Savitar scowled, vibrating his body so that no distinctive physical qualities could be seen. "What makes you think I live here?"

Wally's eyes strayed to the plastic spoon that had clattered to the floor. "You're—eatin' Jell-O."

The speedster dropped the empty cup, folding his arms. "What do you want, Wallace?"

West's eyebrows shot up, his voice cracked. "You know my name? I mean—I mean, my name's _Wally_ , nobody calls me...uh, Wallace."

Savitar rolled his eyes, which was difficult to do when vibrating one's eyeballs. "I know who you are. _What_ do you _want_?" He gestured to Wally's general area. "You're basically healed. Free to go. Why are you still here?"

Wally licked his lips. "I've been stalling," he finally admitted, offering a small grin.

"Why?"

"I wanted to see you," the boy blurted. "I couldn't just leave without..." He took a deep breath, obviously very nervous, and started again. "Look, you saved my life. You didn't have to—Caitlin told me you were trying to stop the guy who did it. He got away. Because you went to help me." Wally exhaled, staring at the speedster for a moment before finishing seriously, "I'm not worth that—but you saved me anyway. So...thank you." He pursed his lips. "I'm not gonna throw away the chance you gave me."

Savitar let his arms unfold, dropping them. He remembered hearing that same phrase from Earth-1's Wally once, on Jitters' rooftop. He'd given up his _abilities_ for this wide-eyed engineer barely in college. That was before he knew what Wally was really like. Before he discovered that Barry Allen's face and memories and feelings were not enough to draw compassion from. Before he'd been told, by a Wally that had barely been able to think a coherent _thought_ and still managed to out him as a duplicate, that they were not brothers.

It was that nigh-catatonic Wally, in Joe West's living room, that he saw sitting on that gurney. Not this Earth's slightly shorter, quieter version in the yellow jacket.

"You're right," he said musingly. "You're not worth it."

Wally's expression froze and stuttered, but it didn't die out. Savitar had been searching for the same loss he'd once felt at West's words on that face, but he was to be disappointed. Wally seemed to think Savitar was spewing some kind of heroic wisdom, that he was making a valiant, sobering point.

"I know. I know, but I'm gonna do my best to _be_ worth it," Wally decided aloud, nodding. "I'm gonna get as close as I can, right? Like you."

"Like me?" Savitar laughed, harsh and short.

"Yeah. You're fast—like, you've got super speed." Wally glanced over a shoulder at the wall monitors. "You're all over the news, man. You're a legend—this shadow that runs around helping people just cuz he can? That's how I wanna be. I wanna do more." He was smiling again. It was infuriating.

"Really?" Savitar stopped vibrating, but he kept his distance. He rubbed his chin. "Good luck. Because _this—_ "

In a flash of electricity, he was out of the room. Out of the building. Out of the city. All the way to Keystone.

A heartbeat had passed, and he tossed a small box of pizza into Wally's lap. "—is not something you should try at home."

Wally gaped at the warm cardboard slab. "Woah." He opened it and took a slice of pizza out, responding between bites, "I know. And believe me, I wouldn't try it even if I could. Speed—" He swallowed, wiping tomato sauce from his lower lip with a thumb. "That's not me."

Savitar quelled the surprise in his voice. "' _Not you_ '," he repeated, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, um..." Wally's eyes were on the pizza joint's logo, pasted to the side of the box. He glanced furtively at Savitar. "I don't like going too fast, you know?"

Savitar looked at him as if he had grown a third nostril.

Another swallow. "So—when I was nine," he set down his pizza, speaking a little more clearly now, "my mom got in a car accident. It was raining, we were on the highway on the way home from school. We were already late for dinner, so she broke the speed limit—she starts hydroplaning. We spun out of control—ended up crashing into someone else."

The former God of Speed raised his eyebrows, the only emotion he showed at the story.

Wally's tone got louder, more confident, eager to be talking to the man that had rescued him at last. "We were spinning _so_ quick...I remember I didn't think we'd stop moving ever again." He shrugged. "We survived—I got a couple stitches outta the deal, so that was a cool story to tell my friends. But uh," he cleared his throat. "I never wanted to go that fast again."

Savitar narrowed his eyes. "You're afraid of speed." He lifted a finger, pointing underhand at the boy. "Wouldn't that make you afraid of driving, though?" He smirked.

Wally's shrug rose to his jawline. "Hey, you don't get to pick your phobias. Long as _I_ don't go over the speed limit, I can handle it."

The speedster turned, moving for the exit. "You can walk again. You're breathing. There's no reason for you to be here anymore."

"Hold up—" Wally slid off of the gurney, to Savitar's surprise, and hurried after him. The burn marks were pale against his face, fading already. "Isn't there something I can do to help you guys? I know Caitlin's got you wired when you're out there. I've seen her telling you what to do. I can do that too—like, when she's not here, like right now."

He sounded so desperate to be heard, Savitar practically squirmed with pleasure at the chance to shoot him down. Once upon a time, the roles were reversed; he too had begged, and he'd been sent away. He'd wanted to do this for over a lifetime. Trapping Wally in the Speed Force had been good, but there was something about this—even if it was one-sided—that was just so deliciously deliberate.

"Go home, Wallace," Savitar tossed carelessly over his shoulder. "There's nothing for you in S.T.A.R. Labs."

West stopped walking. "It's Wally," he said firmly, and the speedster turned to look at him. "And I know you can use me somehow. I want you to. Caitlin said you're looking for extra hands, like a team. I can be your first recruit." He smiled, unfazed. "I'm pretty good with my hands."

Those Iris-dark eyes, that little quirk of the mouth, the yellow that was so like Kid Flash's costume. The tone he used when he was beating Barry at a game of _Halo Reach_ , when he was going to race the Flash across the city, when he was Joe's first choice in Charades on Family Game Night. What had once been warmth, fondness, pride—it curdled, turning to rage and utter dislike.

A rattling sigh, a shaking of the head that made his mask chafe against his scarred ear. "No matter which one I'm talking to, you still think you're some kind of gift to the world." Savitar strode up to Wally, looking down with undisguised contempt. "You're not burnt. Your back's as good as new. You're taking up space and you're wasting my time. You don't belong here, Wally West. Get out. Go. _Home_."

He sped from the Cortex. He'd only been indoors for roughly twenty minutes and already he needed some air.

* * *

 **(I know, no ScareBare and Caitlin scenes? What foul trickery is this? It's up next, I promise. -Doverstar)**


	14. Chapter 14: The Right To Dream

**(Consider this chapter a reward for getting through that last boring one. Enjoy, and don't forget: reviews are my lifeblood! -Doverstar)**

* * *

There was a yell echoing through Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs on a Saturday night.

Caitlin was made only partially aware of the first one, half-in and half-out of sleep. She had to really consider the physical ramifications of taking night classes under Stein. She was used to all-nighters back home, on her Earth, because there was almost always an emergency that required her skills long after dark. But Stein's lectures were just early enough in the night hours to throw her body's sleep schedule completely off. Thus she was more exhausted than usual; her brain didn't recognize the sound for what it was.

Not until she heard it again. Then she was wide awake, throwing the blankets off and pulling on her lab coat for warmth. It was the closest thing to her on her way out into the corridor, and in a building made largely of metal in autumn, it was wise to don extra layers.

She was halfway to the Cortex before she remembered—Wally had recovered. He had gone home. Home to his mother, who was, to Caitlin's delight, very much alive on this Earth. But she had been livid, obviously, upon discovering that West's hero was the one who had ordered him out.

"Last I checked, _I_ was his doctor, and he isn't cleared to leave until I say he is!" Caitlin had hissed to the speedster.

The former God of Speed was less than apologetic. "You can't keep him when there's nothing wrong with him. And there's nothing for him here," he had added pointedly, a fight on the edge of every word.

She couldn't argue with the former half of his retort. Wally was better, and he wouldn't stay if his rescuer didn't want him. She'd sent him on his way—he'd promised to visit whenever he could, but he wasn't welcome any longer to stay the night. So it couldn't be the boy who was _not_ Kid Flash making such distressing noises. And there was only one other person in the building.

Savitar's room was even barer than hers. Where she had laid out her clothes and a few of her things from home to make it seem more familiar, Savitar seemed to have deliberately kept everything the way the past employees here had left it. The only signs of life were a small table against the east wall, with a few average workman's tools splayed across it, and—of course—the room's sole occupant, tossing and turning in his cot with his day clothes still on. The Flash suit was carelessly hanging over the end of the bed.

Caitlin realized, catching sight of him, that until now she hadn't believed he actually _slept_. It was fine to joke about it with Cisco when they were alone, on a universe she recognized, but looking at him here...it suddenly seemed unfair. Of course he slept. He was still only human—or a metahuman—despite his own best efforts. Speedster or no, villain or reluctant hero, he needed as much rest as anyone else did.

Unfortunately, there is a difference between sleeping and resting.

Savitar was sleeping. Sleeping was when you closed your eyes and you laid down and you dove into your own subconscious, your body shutting out background noises in an attempt to recharge. _Resting_ was when you _actually_ recharged, when you successfully lost consciousness and your body prepared itself for the next day, usually over the course of at least six hours.

Barry Allen's time remnant was not recharging. He was clearly locked in the throes of an intense nightmare.

Trying to swallow her initial surprise—embarrassed to admit to herself that she hadn't ever thought of him experiencing REM the way the average person did, either—Caitlin moved cautiously to the bedside.

Savitar's hair was off his forehead, and without it hanging down in his eyes slightly, like some cliché anime protagonist, he looked more like Barry than ever. It also helped that though there was enough moonlight to make out details, none of it was on the side of the room that his scars were facing. Still, it was just as unnerving to see Barry having bad dreams as it was to see Savitar have them.

His body shuddered and rocked on the cot; he was hardly using the blankets provided anymore. Gingerly, she tried to take his hand and shake it loosely, in an attempt to wake him, only to find that his palms were very sweaty. Clammy, actually. And there was something odd...her eyes widened. They were too warm. His skin was burning hot, and he wasn't under the covers, and the room was ice cold...

She was a professional. She knew her patients well. There had been zero sign of the flu or a cold the day before, so there was really just one explanation for his temperature. She reached over and pulled the collar of his gray shirt away from him, only hard enough to see his left shoulder, his most recent injury.

His thrashing around must have disturbed his fragile wound, because he'd somehow opened it again. It wasn't awful by any means—she was _not_ going to have to return to the med bay for _another_ happy gunshot session. A stitch or two—or five—had come undone and his injury had been exposed to frigid night air and a frankly musty deserted bedroom. The hole was not mended enough, even with his healing properties, not to be agitated by this yet. There were signs that told her it had bled while he slept, probably because he'd jostled it, but that was dry now, dark dark brownish.

It must have been hurting him, though, because he kept making small whimpers as he lay there, and the unstitched shoulder came up off the mattress in subconscious irritation more than once. Those were the whimpers Barry made when he dislocated something or, less often, when Iris was upset with him. Caitlin was one of the few people who knew he _could_ whimper, superhero specimen that he was—even Barry himself was unaware of it, and probably would have made a nice effort never to make the sound again if he knew.

So the God of Speed was not only suffering from a nightmare, now he was suffering from physical pain, too. She couldn't decide which was worse, biting her lip as she looked from his wound to his tortured expression.

If there was one thing Caitlin hated, it was a nightmare. She was used to controlling everything—mostly. But nightmares were unavoidable, unexpected, and utterly uncontrollable, down to the last foggy frame. There may have been science behind it, but science couldn't make it go away. Watching someone else—anyone else—caught in their own mind like that caused her to do what she did best: try very forcefully to help.

Carefully avoiding the shoulder, Caitlin went around to the other side of the cot and put a hand on the opposite arm. Its muscles were tense, and she thought he might even have been vibrating a little in his discomfort; it was like holding one of Cisco's old Gamecube controllers. She joggled him, but he had stopped moving for the most part; only his face showed he was still in distress. Caitlin put both hands on his arm now, pulling.

"Savitar!"

She had barely gotten his name out before he sat bolt upright, breathing hard. She expected a wave of wrath, and probably another snarky comment about her lovely bedhead. Or a complaint about how late it was. But he didn't give her any of that.

Instead, one green eye bloodshot, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Agh, your hands are like _ice_!"

He glanced up at her, hair back in his eyes, and she could see by the glazed pupils and the way he squinted that he was not completely awake yet—or that the fever his injury had generated was putting him out of his own mind.

"Caitlin?" He said it quietly, very confused. It was riding on a tired breath, the way Barry would say it, and her heart expanded, reminded of his origins. It had been two and a half weeks since she'd heard anything other _Doctor Snow_ in that voice, at least in person. "What are you doing? Where are—why are you here?"

"You were—"

He had barely given her time to respond before he let out a sharp exclamation, a mix of _arhh_ and _ow_ , clapping his right hand to the left shoulder of his tee shirt. Pushing cotton into the half-open wound did not do him any favors, as one could imagine.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows apologetically. "That's why. You split a few stitches."

Savitar winced, rolling his sleeve up to look at the source of his pain. He glared at it. "I'm not going to the—" He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. His voice rose. "The—your—" The tiniest of snorts escaped him, frustrated.

Forgetting terms, fluctuating volume. Definitely the fever. He _wasn't_ completely lucid. Just a feather of sympathy burst through for him, and she offered helpfully, "The med bay?"

He exhaled, relieved. "Yes." The speedster's voice cracked as if his throat were too dry.

"You're not," she agreed, sighing. "I just have to clean around it and stitch it up again. I can do all that here. Let me get my bag."

He had fallen asleep again when she came back. He really did do everything quickly. He didn't seem to be dreaming anymore. Or that was what she assumed, before nudging him awkwardly on the arm with the back of a hand this time, hoping that might be warmer. The way he gasped and hurled up again made her retract her assumption.

"If you open this again," Caitlin told him, leaning down to commence stitching, "at least suck it up until sunrise." She wasn't in a joking mood at 3 AM, but he seemed to think this was funny.

"No promises," he chortled, grimacing.

It was almost exactly like treating Barry. The duplicate seemed too tired to add any bite to his bark. When Caitlin finished, she cleared her throat, nodding to his pillows in as authoritative a way she could manage. "All set. Go back to sleep—your wound induced a premature fever, but it should clear up in an hour or two if you rest."

Savitar didn't close his eyes or even lay down. Instead he stared at her. Trying to prove she was no longer intimidated by him, she stared back. But that didn't last long, of course, because she was herself. He watched her so intensely that she started fidgeting, and when she couldn't take it anymore, she snapped. It was too early for this little power play.

"Did you hear me? You need to go to sleep. You're not a god, you need your rest."

"I'm try—Caitlin—" He rubbed his forehead with the heel of a hand. "I need rest."

"Right," Caitlin agreed patiently, setting her bag down. "And I do too, so just try to—" _Wait a minute_. Caitlin again. Stuttering. She peered at him, squinting in the dark. "Savitar? Are you...awake? Do you understand me?"

It was a ridiculous way to check. She knew full well that if his fever was taking him out of it, he wouldn't be able to truthfully answer her. But this was a grown man with extraordinary abilities, not a little boy sleepwalking. Even with her intellect, knowing how to read the signs, it was hard to tell just from his tone and his mannerisms whether he was actually solid or not.

"Yes," Savitar hissed. "Yes, I told—I told you I'm not—" He blinked hard, several times, clearly struggling to regain control of his faculties. "Why are you in here?" he repeated, louder.

Caitlin struggled to _remain_ patient. His tone had become harsh again. "You opened your bullet wound," she intoned. "I had to stitch it back up. Not two minutes ago."

"No." Savitar swallowed, dry mouth bothering him. "You didn't _hear_ it open," he growled. He pointed to the door. "From your room."

Caitlin glanced at the door herself, as if he actually wanted her to see something in that direction. She shook her head. "You're right," she admitted. "I heard you yelling. In your sleep. I came to help."

Savitar's eyes focused a little more at that. "You can't help me," he whispered, unfeelingly. Matter-of-factly.

She didn't respond, watching him.

"Might as well get up. I'm not gonna get any more sleep with this all night," Savitar finally announced, nodding to his shoulder. He seemed to be a little more awake now.

"I don't think you were yelling because of that," Caitlin commented quietly.

Savitar didn't tear his gaze from his shoulder, but he was still, listening to her.

"I also didn't think the God of Speed could get nightmares," she added, taking a step nearer.

He snorted. "He probably can't. Too bad I'm not a god, huh?" His milky eye glittered up at her, contemptuous.

"What was it about?"

"Nope." He spoke over her. Savitar shook his head hard, a half-smile forming. "Not doing that. Go back to sleep, Doctor Snow, I don't need a therapy session." He lay on his side, turning his back to her, folding his arms tight.

Caitlin pursed her lips. She was just as stubborn as he was. She didn't know what made her keep trying, what made her go around to the other side of the bed to face him. Maybe it was the echo of her friend still hanging over him, or simply that she was so used to helping everyone that she couldn't turn it off.

His eyes were open, and they struck her as if she had insulted him by coming into view. "Studies show it's difficult to sleep when someone's staring at you, Caitlin," he grunted.

Encouraged by the use of her first name, her eyebrows puckered in a way that was meant to show sympathy. "I've had my fair share of nightmares, you know. Becoming Killer Frost. Watching Ronnie die. Zoom. Sometimes I even dream I'm being chased by dolls," she offered, cracking a smile.

She sat on the side of the bed, but as soon as she did, he rocketed up.

"You don't understand," he told her, almost sounding amused. "You think _dolls_ and ice powers are bad?" He pressed two fingers in between his eyebrows, pulling them away to gesture aimlessly. "I spent centuries trapped in the Speed Force, in Barry's _prison_ built specially for me. You know what I saw in there?"

Caitlin stared up at him, too shocked he was actually sharing to form a sentence. She leaned backward a little, waiting.

"I saw you." Savitar pointed at her, hard. Angrily. "I saw Wally, Joe, Cisco. I saw Iris." He tilted his head at her, narrowing his eyes. "I found out there are about two billion ways to be rejected—and that's just by one person. Imagine a whole _team_ of people, abandoning you for eternity. He threw me away to live out the worst day of my life over and over and _over_ again, and when I got out," he practically grinned now, "I thought I'd be free. I was _so_ tired. But it turns out I get to press replay." He tapped his temple with a finger. "Every night. Guess I didn't suffer enough in the Speed Force."

She didn't know what to say. How did you respond to _that_? She just watched him, trying to picture Cisco turning him away. Trying to picture him as Barry again. Trying to picture _any_ of them shunning him. Once again, it was nearly impossible. Even after everything he'd already done, they had saved him. No Team Flash, no matter what they had gone through, would turn away someone who needed their help. Especially not someone with Barry's face and Barry's memories. But the look in his eyes told her it had absolutely happened, and that he felt it with every heartbeat. He couldn't be lying. It was the one thing he actually seemed passionate about.

Untangling her mind, struggling to find the right words, she said, "Sometimes...talking it out can take the weight off. I can help you."

Savitar didn't move. He watched her back. "Why?" was all he said.

"Why?"

"Why are you helping me? Why are you here?" When she opened her mouth to ask, he cut her off by adding, "Not—in my room. On this _Earth_ , why? Why did you come here?"

Here was something she could answer with confidence. Something clear and firm. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Savitar let out a long _oooh_ under his breath, mouth an _O_ , looking at the wall as if he just couldn't believe her. "Come on," he said, prompting, shaking his head.

"I'm serious!" Caitlin's eyebrows rose, her voice rose, she almost stood up off the bed.

"There has to be another reason." He was speaking over her again, over the tail of her words. "There's something in it for you."

Caitlin's face hardened, and she glanced up at him determinedly. "There isn't. Believe it or not, people _can_ do things for others without gaining anything for themselves. You want to start over, and—I know what that feels like. I can help you, you need—"

"Don't." He held up a finger, warningly, almost tauntingly. "Don't. I don't need you."

Caitlin spread her palms on her knees. "I was going to say you need friends," she muttered. "You need people beside you, or this won't work."

"I _had_ people beside me," Savitar snapped, turning at last to look her full in the face. "And they tossed me away. You can say it wasn't me, but I _remember_." He closed his eyes, casting back, and Caitlin saw the ghost of the true Flash passing over him, when the anger drained from his expression, when he called memories to the forefront of his mind. "I remember getting struck by lightning. I remember meeting Wells—all of them. Moving in with Joe. The first time Cisco vibed, fighting Grodd, helping Wally with his homework." He opened his eyes, lifting his chin in her direction. "You."

Caitlin blinked, thrown by the emotion in his gaze.

"I remember meeting Ronnie, and how _scared_ you were when he showed up again. I remember your face when he didn't come back from the Singularity."

"Stop it," Caitlin whispered, glancing out the window, not meeting his mismatched eyes. He remembered what wasn't his. She didn't like reliving certain things any more than he did.

He didn't stop it. He went on. "The day you got your little necklace, when you yelled at me for meeting Iris on top of Jitters." A little chortle puffed out. "Oh—you told Eddie I was emotionally unstable because of the lightning, 'member that? How about when we went to that bar, and you did all the drinking—"

"Stop!"

"What was that song you dragged me up there to sing?" Savitar paused, then hit his head with the heel of a hand. He pointed lazily at her, as if it really did just come to him. A small smile came to his face, and it wasn't clear in the dark whether it was sinister or not. His voice was laced with the same ups and downs little brothers used when they insisted they weren't doing anything, all while poking and teasing their sisters. " _Summer lovin'_..."

Caitlin stood up. "That's enough."

Savitar showed her his palms. " _That wasn't you, that was Barry Allen_!" He mimicked her speech patterns, but his own voice stayed the same. He folded his arms. "Funny how much it _feels_ like it was me, though. You haven't thought about how much I know, have you? How much I have to ignore."

Caitlin's mouth tightened. He was standing there in his tee shirt, hair messy, and in the half light she could so easily believe she was talking to the Flash. Her Barry, with the same tired rasp, the same lackluster posture too early in the morning. But the scars and the one blue eye and the sound of a metal spear going clean through H.R.'s body told her she was dead wrong.

He seemed to read her mind. "See? You get to look at me and—" He mimed something flying out of his mind with a hand, shrugging. "You don't have to remember any of it. But I look at _you_..." He was nearer now, coming around to her side of the cot. "I look at Wally. And I see a whole _life_ with you, all of you, that I don't get to talk about." He pursed his lips, expression perfectly communicating _oh well!_ "I don't get to mention it. It's not my place, I don't have the right. It makes you _angry_. You still see a villain when you look at me."

"No." Caitlin found her voice at last, quick with indignancy. "That's not true, I don't—I don't see a _villain_. Not anymore."

Savitar's whole body seemed to freeze, just for a heartbeat, and he stood facing her, waiting. He was actually confused; she had managed to give him pause. "Then what do you see?" he demanded, carefully, as if he already knew the answer.

Caitlin bit her lip. It took her a moment to reply, thinking it over. "I don't know."

He exhaled, rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, exasperated.

She hurried to finish her thought before he could shut down again. "I do know you're trying to be different," she offered. "I know you want to put it all... _behind_ you. But you're doing it the wrong way."

Savitar cocked his head at her, disbelieving.

"You think you can change by yourself. You can't. Barry needed friends, he needed his family to help him. In everything. You need that too." She folded her arms. "Whether you look like him or not."

His let his shoulders bounce with a slight wince and slid his hands into his pockets. "What if you're wrong? If _Barry's_ family didn't want me, what makes you think anyone else will?" He seemed to think he'd delivered a Trump card, something she couldn't get past. His back was straight, face stiff.

"You'll never know unless you take a chance," Caitlin told him breezily.

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, calculating. His shell had been cracked, she could feel it, and for the moment he wasn't making any attempts to seal it back up. His breath still smelled like strawberry Jell-O.

Caitlin took a deep breath, finally heading for the door. "You can start your day at 4 in the morning if you want," she sighed, picking up her medical bag. "But as your physician, I don't recommend it."

She was almost at the exit when he stopped her.

"Stay." Savitar said it in a giving-up tone, something very close to annoyed. Really, it was almost an order, the same way you'd call a child back to you after they'd 'snuck' something out of your backpack, assuming you didn't know. He hadn't turned to watch her go and was standing in the same place he had been seconds ago; his voice was loud and wide awake.

Caitlin halted instantly, wondering if she'd heard him properly. "What?" she said, giving him a chance to retract it, almost warning him. She couldn't help being suspicious.

He dropped onto the cot, folding his arms across his chest, upper half propped up on the headboard. Like a moody preschooler being told that if he wasn't going to nap, he at least had to lie down quietly for a while. "Stay in here," he elaborated throatily. "Until I fall asleep."

Caitlin's eyebrows went to her hairline. Her fingers curled in, lifting her hands. "Are you...giving me an order?"

"Yes."

She was searching for a retort, flabbergasted that he would dare, when he finally explained himself.

"You want me to stay in bed, this is how it's gonna go." He watched her walk back toward the end of the cot. "I'm not gonna get any rest if I have that dream again, so you get to babysit."

"Is that so?" Caitlin was not entirely sure how to proceed, what kind of tone she should use. This was uncharted ground. Another unexpected turn of events. She was losing her touch as S.T.A.R. Labs' resident control freak.

If it was possible to shrug an elbow, he was doing it, arms still tightly crossed. "If it happens, you wake me up."

Caitlin's eyebrows knit, she debated, looking off to the side, hands gripping the base of the bed's metal frame. Her slippers were making her feet sweaty after being worn this long.

Interrupting what was fast becoming a long, detailed list of pros and cons in her head, Savitar added, "You said you wanted to help me, right?"

She met his eyes, fully engaged at this point. Nodding very slightly, still feeling incredibly out of her element. It was sort of an out-of-body experience, what was happening right now. The God of Speed, the big bad, needed someone to stay with him until he fell asleep. In seconds he'd gone from bitter tirades to nonchalant bodyguard employment.

"You win," Caitlin said, putting a brave face on it. She pulled the stool by the worktable to the side of the bed, stifling a yawn as she sat down. "We can't have Earth-66's resident hero too tired to work."

Savitar closed his eyes, shifting a little, getting comfortable but still remaining in that stubborn position, legs crossed as well as his arms now. After two minutes of silence, just when Caitlin was wondering how she'd pass the time, her name drifted in, though he hadn't moved at all.

"Caitlin."

"Yes?"

Probably too much to hope for a _thank you_.

"Don't touch me." His eyebrows came down. "Your hands are freezing."

Definitely too much to hope for. "Excuse me?" She couldn't suppress an indignant huff, not quite a laugh, but not actually negative. She couldn't deny her own body temperature. She had cold powers, it was self-condemning. "It is 50 degrees Fahrenheit in this room—"

"I don't care how bad my nightmare gets. If you touch me with those Killer Frost fingers again—" More talking over her. She could play that game too.

Caitlin lifted an arm to slap against her thigh. "How do you want me to wake you up, with a foghorn?"

He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you serious right now?"

For some reason, she was trying not to laugh. Probable the surreality of the situation. "You act like the sudden cold wouldn't be an effective—"

"Look, this is not hard—"

"You wanted me to wake you up, this is the easiest—"

"I'm not arguing about this with you!" Was it a trick of the moonlight, or did she see the quirk of Barry's _trying-to-be-serious_ smile? "Hands off. Okay?" Muttering, he added, "Unbelievable."

It was such a familiar phrase coming from that mouth, she relented. Caitlin folded her hands on her lap. "Understood. Hands off the metahuman."

He closed his eyes again.

Caitlin waited a few seconds, but it was too late. Her brain wouldn't be quiet. She was a scientist, her only patient was actually in the same room with her for once, and it was 4:35 AM. "Can I ask you something?"

The air hissed out of him. "It's Savitar's bedtime, Caitlin."

"Are you... _blind_ in your left eye?"

"What?" It came out as a groan. Eyes still shut.

"The damaged half of your body, the—one fogged eye. It's similar to a cataract, but it doesn't drift." She was babbling, fighting exhaustion. "And it has the same premature coloring a newborn's eyes have before adjusting to sight. Can you see out of it?"

"Not when it's closed."

"I was thinking if—"

"Caitlin."

"Right. Sorry." She cleared her throat, lapsing back into silence.

She saw him swallow, squirming slightly again, getting prepared to try and sleep once more. There was no clock in the room, but if there were, she had a feeling its ticking would be deafening. She should have brought a clipboard, she should have been looking over her notes from Stein's classes. She at least could've retrieved her phone before agreeing to sit here. She might have been productive, researched this Earth's Kyle Nimbus. Instead the only thing to look at, to occupy her time with, was the speedster doing his best to get some rest.

Barry did, in fact, look good in black. Wearing baggy clothes, though, made him seem younger, like a skater boy, and seeing Savitar slouching back on the cot just fueled the similarities. She watched his breathing slow, wondering suddenly if he could feel the Speed Force even as he slept, if that was why his nightmares were vivid enough to have him writhing the way he had been when she found him earlier. Did his heart rate accelerate where others' became sluggish while snoozing? Did electricity still flash and set his bloodstream ablaze when he was unconscious? The coma had proved that much, okay, but could he _feel_ it? Did it change his dreams, the pattern his brain weaved?

Whatever the answer, he looked peaceful, lying there. The pain and the bitterness were dormant when he slept without nightmares, like they were hiding. Somewhere in him was the ability to shine the way his counterpart did. The Flash brought nobility and compassion to Earth-1. Barry glowed when he walked into a room; he had been through so much darkness and had come out brighter for it, and he illuminated his friends when he stood beside them. Savitar could do that. It wasn't too late. She thought he probably craved it—he just didn't know that was what it was he wanted. That light was so much a part of the person Savitar had come from, it couldn't just die out, no matter what he'd experienced. He was miserable, trying to smother it. She wanted him to feel whole again, but he was so afraid to try...

Another question sprang to her mind, a little glass shard of hope. "Savitar."

She didn't think he'd heard her, but then he snapped, " _What_?"

"Why did you ask me to stay with you?" Caitlin demanded. "Do you really think my sitting here is going to keep your nightmares away?"

He opened his eyes. "No."

"No," Caitlin repeated, squinting. She leaned back, studying him.

His eyebrows bounced, he looked expectantly at her. "I was taking a chance."

Caitlin controlled her expression, though the shard of hope had become a small, stained-glass window. "I see." Winding the heels of her hands together. "And...how do you think it'll turn out?" She felt like she was asking for an early grade on a report. Searching for some sign of approval.

Savitar clicked his tongue. "I'm optimistic. But it depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you can shut up long enough for me to fall asleep."

Caitlin waved a hand apologetically, motioning for him to try again. "Yes. Yes, sorry." She coughed. "At ease."

He rolled over, but this time it wasn't so that his back was turned. His arms were still crossed, but his eyes were just barely open now, watching her. "Don't go anywhere, Doctor Snow." It was almost under his breath; she had to strain to hear it.

She blinked, a little fed up with trying to decode his every sentence. "I said I'd stay until you were asleep."

Savitar didn't respond, but his mouth tightened. He looked at her, and went on looking at her, until finally the late hour seemed to take him, and he lay fully folded, facing her, out like a light. Caitlin had planned on leaving as soon as he was unconscious, going back to her own room, but she remained in the chair until daylight came. No sense in disobeying orders.


	15. Chapter 15: Breakthrough

The walls of the engineering room were far better for interdimensional video calls than the walls of Caitlin's bedroom. For one thing, there was no competing light coming from the window, so it was easier to see. For another, there was no odd, Orange Peel gray texture behind the image.

It wasn't helping, though, that she was surrounded by the ghosts of projects Earth-66's Cisco and Ronnie and the other engineers here hadn't lived to finish. She couldn't have told you what even one of them did if she tried, but it hurt to look at them all the same. She could tell which table was Cisco's—out of everyone else's similar mess, his had a little bobblehead of Captain Kirk in its midst, and there was an empty bag of Swedish Fish beside a clump of wires. Earth-1's Cisco Ramon detested Swedish Fish, so that one was new, but no one else could've been sporting that bobblehead.

Ronnie's had her name carved into the tabletop, probably with a hot piece of metal in one of his more distracted moments. It didn't have any hearts by it, or their paired initials nearby, nothing so cliched, but she recognized the handwriting. When she saw it, Caitlin wondered if coming in here had been a bad idea, had been too much. But she was at peace with Ronnie's death now. _Both_ of them. _At least on this Earth,_ she reminded herself in a sort of twisted attempt at solace, _we died together._

Besides, nothing could be too sad when she had Barry in the room with her. In a manner of speaking.

"Hey, Cait," he greeted as the projector flickered to life, after a moment of the two of them setting it up. He was in Earth-1's med bay, according to the background, and Caitlin's eyebrows came down.

"Are you okay?" she checked, not returning his hello, eyes on the gurney behind him. He wasn't in his Flash suit.

Barry glanced around, realizing what was worrying her. "Oh! Yeah. Yeah, no, I'm fine—it's just quieter in here. Wally almost blew up his Kid Flash uniform earlier and Cisco's doing the 'my suit' thing." He gave her a cheeky grin. "This is our spot anyway. Thought I'd stick to routine."

Caitlin rolled her eyes at him, but she was beaming. "You seem cheerful."

Barry shrugged a shoulder. "I'm happy to see you. Oh—" he held up a small piece of paper. "And Iris just showed me these last night." He brought it closer to the camera so she could read it. "Can you see it?"

Caitlin squinted. It was a _Save the Date!_ notice for their wedding. She tilted her head as Barry pulled it back. "No red and gold lettering?" she teased.

He raised his eyebrows, still grinning. "Nah, we thought that and making Mirror Master our ring bearer was one hint too many. People might start to think Iris is marrying the Flash or something."

"Right," Caitlin chuckled with him. "Well, congratulations, Mister Allen."

Barry heaved a happy sigh. "I spent so much time worrying we'd never make it this far." He gestured aimlessly with a hand. "With Iris—not knowing if she was gonna live long enough to even make these..." He set the flyer down somewhere off-camera. "It's like I was wearing a...really heavy backpack, you know, and somebody just ripped it off me. I'm free."

Caitlin nodded. "We're due for a happily ever after around here," she told him quietly. Eyebrow quirking, she added, "And it's nice to see a smile on that face for a change. I'm pretty sure the one on _this_ Earth doesn't know how to smile anymore."

Barry folded his arms, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "You'll fix that." He lifted his chin. "How's he doing?"

"He's..." Caitlin bit her lip.

Barry leaned forward, jostling the speaker. "Did he do something to you?" his voice had become louder, harder. "Cait?"

Caitlin made a face that told him he was being too hasty. "No—he's...adjusting."

She told him about Savitar's latest endeavors, keeping Central City safe without really showing himself. She told him how Savitar had caught Heat Wave, and Barry's face crackled and broke just a little when she mentioned that Eddie Thawne was alive and well on Earth-66. She knew Eddie was one of his biggest regrets. Caitlin told him about Savitar's _two_ bullet wounds, and his snark, and how he'd kicked Wally out. She told him what Savitar had said about her Killer Frost powers. It felt so good to spill it all, to hand it to him as if pulling items from her purse, one by one, for him to examine. She hadn't realized how much she needed to vent until her hero was onscreen.

Barry just looked at her with his kind green eyes and his tensed mouth, listening. With his arms still folded, she was reminded immediately of Savitar, and a pang of homesickness for the Flash threw her. For her friend. She didn't know that she still hated Savitar the way she had before all of this—before they saved him from the Paradox—but she was sure they weren't quite friends yet. It was unbalancing, to look at him and so clearly _feel_ the absence of that fondness and trust. He was supposed to be a copy of Barry, but they weren't _friends_? It didn't make sense. Her mind and emotions didn't know what to do with it. The situation was disarming, even as they were learning to work together.

Finally, she came to her plan to save Clarissa Stein. "If we can find Kyle Nimbus on this Earth," Caitlin wrapped up, "and I can use his genetic information to—to develop some kind of _cure_ for what Stein's wife is facing, we'll not only be saving a life; it could be the key to getting the Professor on our side." She waited, hoping he was proud of her brilliant plan. It wasn't often she was the one coming up with schemes.

But Barry looked apologetic, hands on his knees. "He's not gonna want a team, Cait. Not yet."

Caitlin's eyebrows puckered. "He _needs_ one. He can't be this Earth's hero like he has been on his own. You of all people should know that. And..." She tucked her own hands underneath her in her stool, glancing up at the projection. "I can't come home until I know he has friends to keep him in check. That's what I promised him."

Barry nodded. "I know. But—I mean, you've gotta understand, Savitar comes from...a time where we—us, our _Team_? We let him down. We threw him away." His voice had become thick, echoing through the engineering room.

Caitlin was shaking her head, looking at the floor stubbornly, before he had finished. "I don't believe that. He's _you_. We would never—"

"No, they would." Barry was staring at something off-camera, probably the wall. "They would. The Team Flash from 2024, the year he was created? The year we trapped him in the Speed Force? They were... _broken_ , Caitlin. After Iris died..." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "My future self kicked everybody out. He shut down S.T.A.R. Labs, he shut down the team."

Suddenly it was colder in there. "I don't un—"

"I sent _Joe_ away." Barry said it as if that would explain exactly how much 2024's Flash had snapped. "I wasn't there for him. I wasn't there for any of you. To see _me_ , a duplicate of me, a time remnant, going to them and asking them for help?" The picture flickered, but Caitlin thought his eyes looked a little too wet. "Yeah, they abandoned him. _I_ abandoned _them_. I was selfish, I chose to be alone. So they _left_ me alone. That includes Savitar."

Caitlin stared at him, heartbeat slowing. She tried imagining it again. Imagining a Barry Allen that would close down their home, their headquarters, a Barry that would send them away and leave Joe all on his own. He had lost his mother, he had lost his father. They way he described it, Barry had lost both parents more than once. If that hadn't brought him so low, seeing Zoom kill Henry right in front of him, having to order the Reverse Flash to murder his mother in order to restore the timeline—if _that_ couldn't make him broken enough to cast them all aside, but losing _Iris_ could...she couldn't wrap her head around it. That wasn't the Barry she knew. Something had been missing the second time, the Infantino Street time, something that should have kept his heart beating even after Iris was taken from him. 2024 Barry didn't _have_ to be alone, but he had allowed it to swallow him, he'd _chosen_ it. Why?

Barry let out a little puff of air, finally adding, "Believe me, he's gonna need some time to trust people again. I mean, from what you told us, it sounds like he's out there trying to be the Flash—"

"He doesn't want to be called Flash," Caitlin interrupted.

Barry faltered. An adorable twist of confusion raided his expression. "What? What does he call himself?"

"Nothing yet."

"He's gotta have a name."

"The newscasters are calling him a _shadow_ ," she offered, showing her palms.

"The Shadow?" Barry made a face. Then he made a discouraging noise. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I."

"Shadows aren't fast."

"Exactly—"

Barry waved his hands, shaking his head. " _Anyway_ , sorry—just—" He sighed. "At least he's trying to be a hero again, right? One step at a time. He'll get there. But he needs your help, Cait, he needs you to show him." He hesitated, then added, a little more earnestly than she would have expected, "Then come home. Okay?"

Caitlin gave him a small smile. "As fast as I can."

"I can't have you missing my wedding," Barry added, delivering an ultimatum.

Caitlin almost pouted, offended. "You wouldn't change the date for me?"

"Talk to Iris."

"Barry!"

"Talk to Iris!" While she was laughing, he added, "I'm serious. If it comes to it, I'll run over there and drag you out myself."

Caitlin opened her mouth to object to that, but suddenly the image rippled, static claiming Barry's voice as he tried to continue his threats. _Not again,_ Caitlin wanted to groan, but she held it in.

"What's—on—" The sound on Barry's end came in and out, the picture freezing and starting up and freezing again. "Cait?"

"I think that's Savitar calling me," Caitlin explained, voice raised, as if volume were the problem. She bent down to pick up the walkie talkie projector. "I'm sorry—I'll talk to you later, Barry!"

The sound was completely cut off by the time, but as she narrowed her eyes up at the image, she thought she could make out what he seemed to be saying by reading his lips. She caught the word _promise. Keep your promise_. His green eyes looked so pitiable for a moment, image frozen again, she wanted to call Cisco and demand a breach right then. She missed Earth-1. She missed Barry, she missed all of it.

More static. _But duty calls._

The device collapsed back into walkie talkie form. Using the heat sensor, she transformed it into her comms, attaching the bluetooth to her ear.

"What is it, Savitar?" She hadn't meant to snap, but these interruptions could only be handled with grace and poise for so long.

"You busy?" came a harsher, colder version of the voice she had heard laughing just ten minutes ago. Sounded like he was shouting over something.

"I— "Caitlin tucked a piece of hair away from her cheek. "Not anymore," she admitted, forcing her tone into neutrality.

"Got time for a house fire?" he asked again, and she noticed the rush of noise in the background at last. "Or would you rather go back to Skyping your boyfriend?"

Somehow he knew she had been calling Barry? Caitlin's eye roll was award-worthy. She considered telling him about the _Save the Date!_ flyers, just to shut him up, but she knew how cruel that might be.

"Don't be insufferable," she huffed. "What do you need me to do?" All business now.

"Go to the Cortex. Get a 3D blueprint on the building. I need to know if this thing's coming down."

Caitlin wondered if he might spontaneously combust upon using the word _please_ , but decided quickly that now was not the time for Cisco-esque jibes. She hurried into the corridor, almost running. As she turned a corner, she heard a loud noise—a kind of shuffle.

Caitlin stopped suddenly.

She made a face, and she must've made a noise too, because she heard Savitar say, "What's the problem?"

"Nothing, it—" Caitlin looked around, but the hallway was as wide and empty as ever. "There's a...a very... _weird_ smell in the corridor."

Savitar didn't respond. He had probably shut off the comms. He didn't have time to deal with odd smells, apparently. Caitlin took one more turn around the area. The scent was acrid, like the smell of mop detergent or gasoline. Was one of the machines they had patched up on the fritz? This S.T.A.R. Labs was improving with their stay, but it was still very much a beaten-down, neglected shell of what they were used to. Maybe something had gone wrong and now there was some kind of chemical leak.

Whatever it was, aside from the smell itself, there was no corporeal evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Nothing but the floors leading on, the lined walls surrounding it, the low ceiling, the air vents, and herself.

But there _was_ a house burning down somewhere, and Savitar needed a 3D map if he was going to keep civilians safe. She rushed to the Cortex, dismissing the scent for now.

Her monitor seemed to take hours to boot up, but it had been a long time since Caitlin had thrown a _come on you stupid thing_ tantrum over an electronic device. She had been working with them for years; she was very aware that the machines were not sentient and would not respond to shouting and physical scolding. It took even _longer_ to get a diagram of the specific house up, based on Savitar's location.

Caitlin tapped her comms, leaning toward the screen. "Can you hear me?"

"What do you have?" That was a yes.

"Did you get everyone out?" Caitlin demanded, a sudden fear clenching her.

"What do you _have_?" Maybe that was a yes too.

"The structure from the outside seems to be mainly brick," she rattled off, clicking and dragging to turn the 3D house. There was no sign of flames in the picture, but then, the analyzing program was only designed to copy a live version of the building, not the elements or living beings surrounding it. "The fire must've come from something inside, a timber frame maybe, or more likely an outlet. It was probably the roof that caught first."

"Doesn't matter."

"Right—right, basically it shouldn't fold in on itself just yet, but it could take roughly thirty-two minutes to start decomposing from the inside. No big collapse...but..." She chewed her lower lip a little. This next part might take convincing. "It would probably help the authorities if you put the fire out yourself before any more damage was done."

"I just wanted to know if I had to get all these idiots out of the area," came the wooden response. "Somebody's house goes up and everybody wants to take a picture."

"Millennials," Caitlin agreed, a flower of teasing in the undertone.

Whether he caught the hint of friendliness or not wasn't clear. "I'm done here."

The flower shriveled and died. Caitlin flung an arm halfway out in frustration. "You can't at least put some of it out? It's not like you don't have time."

"I'm hungry."

"Being a hero again means doing _everything_ you can." Caitlin mentally pulled out her soapbox. He may have been Barry's remnant, but Barry's instinctual urge to help was being actively smothered. Instead he was favoring the Flash's more stubborn side. And his appetite. "Not running away once the bare minimum is over with."

There was a moment of silence. Caitlin pulled off her comms and checked that the little green light was on. He hadn't shut off their connection. He'd heard her.

"Savitar—"

"Is the river north or west of here?" He sounded exasperated, as usual.

Caitlin tried not to smile and failed, so settled for not letting him hear it lest he change his mind. "It's north. Five blocks. But you don't need water, you—"

"Too far away." Savitar's little dot onscreen darted toward a pocket of heat signatures outside the one mammoth blotch of red that was the burning house.

"What are you doing?" Caitlin demanded, squinting.

"Borrowing their hoses."

She tried to finish her earlier thought, confused. "You could just create turbulence using your arms. Remember?"

"No thanks."

"But it's faster." Caitlin zoomed in on the structure's heat signal. "More efficient."

"No thanks."

Four minutes later, he had drenched the building, and the blotch of red on Caitlin's screen had disappeared. She sighed, switching off the comms. He didn't take the best routes, he barely thought things through—he was like the rookie version of Barry, but with zero listening skills.

The Cortex seemed lonelier than ever today. With Wally gone and no Team Flash of Earth-1 to crowd her workspace, Caitlin surmised that this room was actually pretty dull. There was no laughter, no high-fives, no stressed calculating, no sound of clicking keys or the squeak of the marker on the demonstration board. Even the colors were less than stylish to her, suddenly. _I want to go home._

 _FWOOOSH!_

Savitar, changed out of his costume and back in the dark clothes he usually wore, appeared in front of the winding white desk. He was carrying a bag of Big Belly Burger products, and there was ketchup on the thumb he popped into his mouth for the moment. No sign he had even been _near_ a house fire today. He may not have had Barry's dedication to detail as the Flash, but he was very good at the civilian turnaround portion of the job.

Caitlin scowled at him. "Honestly, what is the point of calling me for help if you won't take my advice?"

Savitar's eyebrows jumped once, he leaned down to set his bag of food on her keyboard. "My speed. My way."

"You _did_ get everyone out of the house, didn't you?" She had to check. After that scare he'd pulled on their first day here, she couldn't help it.

Savitar paused in his stretch to retrieve a few fries, tilting his head at her in a _really?_ fashion. "Yes, Doctor Snow, I got everyone out. Even the cat." He pulled up his right sleeve, showing her a line of no-longer-bleeding scratches.

Caitlin winced for him. "Good. You know, when someone gives you an option that makes your job easier, you should actually consi—"

With a thud, there was a large cup in front of her.

"What is this?" Caitlin lifted it, surprised by the weight.

Savitar was finishing the burger now, making his way around the desk to the other chair. "Poison."

To counter his sarcasm, she tested this, taking a sip. Snow closed her eyes at the taste of it for a moment, then wiped her lower lip with a thumb, blinking at him in confusion. "You got me a milkshake?"

Savitar's eyes followed her thumb lazily. He spread his arms. "I had time."

"It's banana." Caitlin took another sip, delighted. But there was still bewilderment in her tone. "That's my—"

"Favorite?" When she gave him a look, he flicked the side of his head lightly, indicating his copied memories. His eyelids were lowered; there was a little smirk on his face, but she couldn't see any contempt in this one. It unnerved her.

Caitlin turned the cup in a circle, holding it from the top, manually stirring the shake without opening it. "Thank you," she mumbled awkwardly, going in for more.

Savitar didn't respond. He was just watching her drink.

"How's your shoulder?" Caitlin asked, setting the milkshake down with great reluctance. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. "Did any more stitches come undone?"

She opened the bag on the keyboard, reaching in for the french fries at the bottom. Upon retrieving one, she felt a slight breeze, a little jolt, and looked down at an empty hand halfway to her open mouth.

Savitar was chewing. "Nope," he responded, swallowing. He laced his fingers behind his head.

Caitlin decided not to entertain this anomaly—or his smugness—with a reaction and simply went for another fry. Maybe she'd dropped hers; benefit of the doubt. But the same thing happened: one second she was on her way to diabetes, and the next, no fry for her.

"That's very childish," she muttered, glancing at him. "And an abuse of your abilities." She wouldn't say anything more, he couldn't have the satisfaction. But she _would_ have one fry. A sense of indignancy was rising up inside of her; just because he had super speed didn't mean he could antagonize with it and win.

The moment her hand touched the open bag, Savitar was up, standing over her, and then her hand was no longer touching the bag.

His scars were no less angry from this angle, and he held the bag full of food as if it weighed the same amount as a third grader's plastic ruler—with two fingers. His hair seemed cleaner up close, actually soft, the way Barry's usually did early in the morning. The nearer she was to him, the more human he seemed, and she struggled to remember a time where they had all been kept awake on Earth-1 by imagining that very face. He was just a man, with flesh the team could recognize.

She didn't think Barry had ever given her that exact expression, though. She didn't dare call it playful, because that didn't work for him, but it wasn't negative either. He leaned down, and she resisted the urge to roll backward in her chair. He wasn't frightening enough to keep her awake anymore, but there was something about seeing Barry with one damaged eye, half a face, and no smile that got to you after a while.

"Hands off my fries," he told her throatily, heading for the exit.

Caitlin took a moment to compose herself and called, "Where are you going?"

"Sleep." A flash of sickly yellow, and he was gone, taking the fries with him.

He didn't need fries to nap. Caitlin stood up, sighing. The Cortex was back to being empty. She glanced at the milkshake on the desk, and shut her eyes for a moment.

She'd forgotten to feed Heat Wave today.

* * *

Forgetting to feed a person being is not the same thing as forgetting to feed your Golden Retriever. Heat Wave, no matter what abilities he had, was still a human being, when you forgot to feed human beings, they became what Cisco referred to as 'hangry'. Animals didn't seem to get aggravated over a late lunch, just desperate to finally eat it.

Mick Rory was definitely hangry.

When she opened the hatch that allowed her to drop his lunch into the chute, he glared at her, and she thought he might actually be growling, but she didn't strain to hear it and make sure. His skin was beet red, but with the cuffs still firmly clamped around his wrists, changing colors was about all he could do. He grabbed the bag of Thai takeout rather clumsily; bound hands were not good for coordination, superhuman or not.

Rory didn't begin eating right away. Instead, he opened his hand deliberately and let the food crash to the floor. Yellow bean sauce began slowly leaking its way out of a small plastic cup. Caitlin, ignoring this silent tantrum, used one palm scanner to close the chute, reaching for the one that would bring down the metal barrier with the other.

"You're his pet doctor, huh, little lady?"

Caitlin began punching in the proper code; hesitation had logged her out of the scanner again. "I'm his personal physician. Eat."

Some of the sauce had stained Rory's hands; he pressed it to the glass, making even more of a mess. "Your friend's in over his head, _physician_."

She paused. On Team Flash, you learned when to stop and listen to the psychotic villain rant. In her experience it was all bravado and rage, but sometimes—if you asked the right questions—there could be valuable information to file away. And this sounded like the start of one of those rants.

Seeing her halt, Rory pressed his nose to the glass too, encouraged. "He thinks locking me up in here solves all those problems out there." He pointed, as if gesturing to the outside world. "He's got no idea. Super speed? He got one guy." Rory brandished his cuffed wrists. "Freakshow's not fast enough to lock us all up."

Caitlin tilted her head, but before she could ask what he meant, a thin voice from behind beat her to it.

"You're not paid to spill the beans, Rory."

She whirled around, heart climbing up her throat. Wide eyes, pale skin, high collar. Kyle Nimbus stood with his arms spread in the entry to Mick's pocket of the Pipeline, looking very rankled and impatient. Caitlin's hand flew to her bluetooth comms, but nothing was there. Heart in her mouth now. She'd left it in the Cortex.

"That's enough talking," The Mist went on, staring Heat Wave down. He started toward them.

Caitlin stood in his way, feet moving without her noticing. Everything was on autopilot. There was a primal hero's switch her brain had chosen to flick, and she knew what to do without focusing too much energy on it. Everything else was blind fear. She couldn't think of what else to do—she couldn't think of a plan to stabilize Nimbus.

But she could stall him.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, though she was certain she already knew. That acrid scent before—that had been him, hiding.

Kyle's expression did not change. "Vents."

"What do you want?"

"Him." He nodded to Rory. "Boss's orders."

"Hurry up!" Rory snarled behind Caitlin. "I been dyin' to scratch my wrists." Metal scraping glass. "Can't do that when you're locked up in their fancy bracelets!"

Caitlin struggled to find something else to distract him with. Then, _of course_ , the most obvious answer she needed slammed into her. "Why did you attack Clarissa Stein?"

This, the third and by far most random inquiry, seemed to confuse Nimbus, and his stare faltered for a moment. "Who?"

"Clarissa Stein," Caitlin repeated, voice growing stronger. She imagined the older woman, catatonic in a hospital bed, a sweet, intelligent Professor practically hopeless because of this careless man five feet from her. "Wife of Martin Stein—at a bistro _you_ contaminated."

"I don't keep a record of people that choke on me," Kyle's eyes bore into Caitlin. "I was just following orders that night. Restaurant in panic? Check. Who's this?" he added, calling to Heat Wave.

So much for stalling him. Nimbus didn't seem interested in conversation—Caitlin got the feeling any more questions would receive either a one-word answer, or none at all. He was apparently short on time.

"It's the running man's mousy doctor girl," Rory growled. "Like you said, enough talking. Get a move on!"

"Is she important?" The Mist demanded, getting quieter and quieter.

Caitlin looked past Nimbus, over to the palm scanner, back to Nimbus.

"Not even a little bit," Rory replied, and she heard him grinning.

"That's all I needed to hear."

Caitlin didn't have time to suck in a last breath of clean air to hold. Kyle Nimbus disappeared in a cloud of green, a paler shade than she was used to on Earth-1, but obviously it was toxic either way. Everything around her became that particular green. Her eyes stung, her hands flailed. She had time to think, _This is not sanitary_ , before uncontrollable coughing consumed her every working part. Her body was trying without fail to heave out the poison gas, whether it made her chest feel like a collapsible lawn chair or not.

Eyes streaming, she clutched the wall. Nimbus was back in human form, and he had her right wrist in one hand, wrenching her over to the palm scanner and placing her hand on the screen. Caitlin heard the whirring of Rory's cell doors being opened.

There was nothing she could do. She couldn't breathe. She sank to the floor, coughing and coughing, gasping for any oxygen that didn't taste like _that_ , like death itself. Her left hand gripped desperately at her necklace, but her vision became cloudy, and her hand dropped. It was all she could do to remain conscious.

She felt Rory and Nimbus step over her.

"Leave her," Nimbus snapped. "She makes a nice warning for the shadow guy. This is what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

There was a gravelly chuckle from Heat Wave, a flash of boots, and then they were gone.

Minutes dragged by, and Caitlin struggled to move from that one spot. Everything still looked green, and there were spots of light flashing in front of her gaze. She couldn't even hear herself gasping alarm couldn't have gone off; the Pipeline wasn't breached according to the system. It was _her_ authorized scan that had released the metahuman.

But he found her anyway.

"Caitlin!"

When she heard her first name, in _that_ voice, hoarse as it was, for a moment her exhausted brain tried to convince her she was back on Earth-1. It tried to convince her that Barry was the one lifting her off the ground, Barry was the one racing her down corridors faster than sound. But it was the black sleeves of Savitar's jacket when she turned her head, not Barry's warm S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt. He smelled like clean laundry, like the Cortex, but stronger.

That was her last real thought before the green seemed to expand, and everything faded out.

* * *

 **(So this one was shorter, please forgive me. Next chapter coming soon! Reviews are my very favorite thing besides pizza. -Doverstar)**


	16. Chapter 16: Exhale

The last time Caitlin had felt this kind of panic, it was in the middle of the night.

Working with Team Flash made her hardened, tougher, less susceptible to the damage the body's reaction to danger could have on her senses. She'd gotten used to the pressure and the fear and had been able to take that adrenaline and put it to good use, even when _she_ was the one in danger. But there was a time where she wasn't so well-trained, where anxiety could shock her awake and keep her up.

The night after the one during which the particle accelerator had exploded, on Earth-1, she had slept at Cisco's apartment, on the couch. She didn't remember much of the day, or the night before. Everything had been a haze, a nightmare she was stumbling through. No more Ronnie. Dr. Wells' legs ruined. He would never walk again. All those people that had died. No more _Ronnie_. She couldn't think. And she absolutely wasn't going back to her apartment. Too many reminders of what she had lost just 24 hours ago.

So Cisco had dragged her home with him, tried to get her to eat, to talk, anything, but after a while a pillow and a blanket and some quiet was all that seemed to work. She'd fallen asleep on his sofa with her whole body throbbing, feeling like nothing in the world was actually solid anymore.

Then she woke up. Her heart was beating too quickly, her hair was in her face. She felt like she was still in the Pipeline, still desperately clutching the communicator, waiting for Ronnie to respond, but he never did.

She started to cry, so hard it made her face heat up, which made her tears heat up, which just generally made her uncomfortable. The fear of the explosion, the static from the communicator, the look on her fellow employees' faces as she staggered back to the rumbling Cortex without her fiancee. She was reliving it on that lumpy couch, and her tired, grief-electrocuted brain had anxiety pumping through her chest, making her gasp.

Caitlin remembered talking while she cried, probably the babbling of a mind exhausted and traumatized, but looking back what she could be sure of was that she was calling for Ronnie. But he didn't come running, no matter how loudly she yelled for him.

Cisco had, though.

"Hey!" Cisco had stumbled from his room down the tiny hall, eyes very red-rimmed, spitting hair from his mouth. He grabbed his best friend by the arms and shook her as gently as he could. "Caitlin, Caitlin. Stop, calm down, okay? You're safe. You're safe here, chill. It's gonna be okay."

Caitlin's head had wagged back and forth so hard, it hurt her neck. She was barely focusing on him. "I can't," she hiccupped, "I can't, I don't—I want—" But she couldn't put it into words. She wanted Ronnie, she wanted everything to be good again.

He had sat beside her, hugging her, rubbing her back, getting her some water. Anything to calm her down. But it would prove to be a long five hours—for both of them. Caitlin's heart wouldn't slow, her eyes wouldn't stop darting around the room, and she couldn't keep from crying. Eventually her throat hurt too much to continue audibly, and Cisco's company was enough to convince her she wasn't in the Pipeline anymore. She sat up all night, wrapped in an unfamiliar comforter that smelled like churros, and silently sobbed for Ronnie. For Dr. Wells, for the lives their experiment had ruined. But as long as Cisco was sitting beside her, every time her mind spiraled, she could pull it back.

"You're safe here."

* * *

Now, after The Mist's attack, Caitlin was experiencing the same all-encompassing sense of panic. For the first time in a very long time, she was afraid for herself, not for someone else. She had never _not_ been able to breathe before. The working of oxygen throughout the human body was so robotic, so subconscious, that to be kept from doing it was instantly terrifying. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. And this time, she didn't have Cisco to put his hands on her arms and hold them down, telling her firmly that everything was going to be fine.

What she _did_ have was a darkened duplicate of Barry Allen.

She slid in and out of consciousness for the next hour. Caitlin became vaguely aware that she was in the med bay, not the Cortex as she had expected to be, and that there was a piercing sound at regular intervals—she was hooked up to a heart monitor. There was nothing more frightening than that sound, whether it was keeping track of your heartbeat or someone else's. For many people, hearing your own heartbeat makes you nauseous, anxious, even if you are perfectly aware that it is beating and beating in an orderly fashion. Try displaying that beat on a large screen, followed by a sudden _BEEP_ every time the organ pounded. Not comforting in the least, even to a physician.

She hadn't been awake to feel Savitar strapping her down, or employing the monitor, but it couldn't have been anyone else. When she opened her eyes after collapsing in the Pipeline, he wasn't immediately visible. She had to crane her neck, throat raw, eyes watering and blurry, to see him. The coughing was riding every breath.

Savitar had his back to her, and yellow light flashed around the room as he zipped from one machine to the next. She couldn't focus long enough to see what on earth he was doing.

Then he was beside the examination table, pressing an oxygen mask onto her face. Caitlin pulled her head away from it, still in the throes of fear, unsure if he knew what he was doing.

"Stop!" he said, voice so sharp it gave her that same tingling feeling children got when their father berated them in front of a group of friends. "You need this on!"

Caitlin felt like she was going to cough up a lung. "What—that's—that's—" she wheezed. "That's—not going to help—" Her words could only be rushed out between every shaking breath. _How_ was she still alive? She'd dealt with a victim of Nimbus' before. She had to make him understand, this was critical. "Even—Barry—"

Savitar pursed his lips, forcing the oxygen mask on at last. "Caitlin, look at me, see me?" He used one hand to gesture to his face. " _I know._ I _know_ what you did when this happened to Barry— _stop_ moving—I'm not cutting you open. That's not gonna work."

Cutting her open? Right, Barry. That was what they'd done for him. Manually extracted the gas. She thought she tasted blood. A sudden thought burst through the pain. _Clarissa Stein._ "We need—a sample—"

Savitar wasn't listening, he _never listened_ , he was back at the machines, turning away from her. The ceiling light reflected off his dark hair; his jacket flapped against his back every time he raced to the next monitor, searching for something to fix this. Caitlin leaned her head back, coughing and coughing and _coughing_ , knowing with grim certainty that this was not something her body could expel in its default fashion. But that didn't stop it from trying with all the energy she had left.

Savitar was moving to the other side of the examination table, but Caitlin didn't need him on the other end of the room. She reached out an arm, frantically grasping the cuff of his sleeve.

Savitar stopped as if she'd injected him with something, slowly, staggeringly. He looked down at her, impatient.

"If you get—a sample—of—" It hurt to talk, it hurt to breathe.

"Shut up." Savitar jerked his sleeve out of her grasp, moving away again. "You're wasting breath."

But she tried to sit up, and hearing her strain against the straps made him turn. "Please," Caitlin wheezed. She was blacking out again. All the edges of the room were folding in. "It could save—Stein's wife—we _need_ it..." She broke off, gasping deep now. Her chest felt as if iron nails were being wedged out from the inside.

It may have been her failing vision, but Savitar's expression changed, it looked melted. He shook his head ever so slightly and was back at her side in two long strides, ripping off the oxygen mask; it wasn't doing anything anyway. "I'm saving you first."

Then he reached for her necklace.

Caitlin heaved, body trying to arch but unable due to the straps. Icy terror made her coughing worse. He couldn't. It wasn't as if it wouldn't work—her abilities were, especially if it was her body they were affecting, able to crystalize and repel any threatening force from the inside. But there was also a chance that, given the weakened state Caitlin Snow was already in because of her corrupted system, Killer Frost would be given a free ticket to the control room.

"No!" she choked out. "Don't! I-I can't—I'll be—come—I'll—"

Savitar's mouth tightened, but he didn't respond. Instead he grasped the necklace and pulled, not bothering to undo the clasp, letting it snap.

Everything swam around her. Her vision didn't go sharp, the way it usually did when her metahuman strengths were surging through, but she could feel it anyway. She felt it pulse in her fingertips and swarm toward her chest. The table beneath her grew frigid, and Savitar was only a mix of dark colors rippling over her as she lost consciousness.

* * *

Caitlin was in the Cortex when she opened her eyes next. Only the Emergency Lights were on, and something in her could tell it was nighttime. She was lying on Wally's gurney, and her chest was throbbing, and her throat felt cold. But otherwise, she found as she inhaled, she could breathe again. She wasn't Killer Frost. She was Caitlin Snow. Had it all been a dream? A crazy nightmare? She must still be in it, then, because she wouldn't have spent the night here otherwise. She had a room of her own.

Caitlin glanced down as far as she could in the low-lit room, seeing the pendant of her necklace glow in brilliant contrast to its surroundings. Hadn't Savitar broken it? How long had she been out? She struggled to sit up, her breathing coming in too fast by choice now; she was gulping as much air as she could. The gurney creaked beneath her. The Cortex was warm.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came that dry voice. Savitar was leaning on the glass doorframe of the workstation on the dais, watching her.

Caitlin blinked, trying to urge her eyes along in the adjustment to the light. Trying to see him.

He descended the three steps slowly, walking toward her with his arms loose at his sides. "You must be feeling pretty sore."

"How—" Caitlin winced, hand flying to her throat, massaging the outside though she knew for a fact that this would do nothing to improve the inside. It made her feel better, though.

That sickly blip of a yellow glow, and Savitar was pushing a glass of water into her free hand.

Caitlin drank desperately, the cold liquid bringing strength back into her limbs. Her head was pounding. This didn't make sense. The room was so comfortable, the lights so dim she could only see vague shapes on the edges of the Cortex to signify objects sitting there. She might be in a coma, on the edge of death, and this was the scene her mind brought to her to calm her down. That would explain the temperature, the lighting. Caitlin often worked with her computer screen's brightness brought as low as it could go; bright lights could be taxing during long nights of research and experiments. And she was always cold. Her mind _would_ , by default, put her in the most physically placid scene it could find in her preferences. This was all in the case of prolonged unconsciousness following the large amount of terror and peril she'd been in, of course, but one thing stood out to her that proved this theory wrong: No Team Flash.

There was no Barry Allen in this little comforting reality her brain may have weaved for her. There was no Cisco. And it wasn't possible for her to be fully convinced that everything was right when those two particular people were not involved. So this wasn't a dream. Which was disappointing, actually, because it left her with a basketful of questions to answer.

She lowered the cup and mumbled hoarsely, "How am I..."

Savitar pointed to his own collarbone, gesturing with a glance to her pendant. "Your powers. Crystalized the gas in your system, shattered it. Killer Frost has a killer immune system, I guess." He smirked.

Life-threatening experience or not, drained or not, Caitlin was still very much capable of a good old-fashioned rage. She treated the speedster to her most knife-like of looks. After the incident when they'd first arrived here, after everything they had done since then, he still couldn't take a hint. He still didn't understand. Necklace on—Caitlin Snow, bioengineer. Necklace off—Killer Frost, murderer and criminal. It was simple. And he _knew_ which one she preferred.

"How could you do that?" she snapped. "No—I don't care what set of circumstances—I-I don't care _how_ bad it is. I don't ever want you to so much as _breathe_ on this necklace again. You have all of Barry's memories. You know exactly what could happen if you remove my dampener, how could you risk—"

"You're stronger than me."

That effectively shut her up. Savitar was standing at the end of the gurney now, and when she blinked, staring at him, he averted his eyes. He chose to lock his gaze on the wall behind her. Caitlin's shoulders relaxed, but she squinted at him, confused. When she tried to speak, the itchiness at the back of her dry throat made her cough, just once this time, before she could get the word out.

"What?"

He clicked his tongue. "You're stronger than me. That's how." The former God of Speed did look at her now, and it was impossible to tell if he was angry or not. His tone definitely told her he was, but his eyes—he just seemed so tired.

"I don't understand," Caitlin sputtered, shaking her head, still irritated. A compliment didn't wipe away what he'd done, what he could've done. She reached for her water.

Savitar sighed, short and impatient. His hands gripped the metal frame of the bed. He sometimes moved as if it hurt, like everything in him was sore and aching. Where Barry made an effort to wake up and stand tall, his remnant never worked at posture, and his eyes were hardly ever all the way open. Even his voice took on a lazy drawl, as if it were barely worth the time it took to form a sentence aloud when he could just think one to himself. For someone with super speed, Savitar did things rather slowly. As if there wasn't a finish line. His shoulders hunched, he leered at her as he spoke, and every word was annunciated just so—whether this was to patronize her or to reign in some kind of emotion, she couldn't say. Even a face she knew by heart could keep things in.

"You've lost everything before." Savitar exhaled through his nose, long and controlled. "Ronnie. He died twice. First he exploded in a nuclear blast when the accelerator failed, then he disappeared in the Singularity. And you were _right there_ when it happened. Gone forever." He snapped his fingers, cocked his head, and she could just make out his eyes glittering in the dark room. "And Jay." Her heartbeat accelerated at the name; she swallowed. "Zoom? He kidnaps you—starves you, terrorizes you." Savitar's voice fell into a kind of hush, and it might have been awed if he didn't sound so bitter. "You couldn't sleep for a month. But you got back up."

He said those last five words so deliberately, letting them thud into the air, that Caitlin closed her eyes briefly, trying to read his demeanor, setting her glass back down. Bitter, yes, but not enraged? Not angry as usual? There was something negative there. He obviously wasn't _pleased_ at this discovery.

"Barry made you Killer Frost," he went on. Caitlin opened her mouth to object, but he was too quick. "He created Flashpoint, he ruined _everything_ , and you paid the price like everybody else. But you didn't hate him." He narrowed his eyes then, and finally his cold voice dipped with bewilderment, fascination. "You stayed. You stayed with them, you fought for him."

"What are you talking about?" Caitlin interrupted at last, quiet and somber. There was something in the shape of his mouth, the tightening of his fingers on the bar, that made her careful.

" _You_ , Caitlin." Savitar scoffed, showing some thick emotion at last, leaning back in his favorite frustrated gesture. He left one hand on the bed frame, but the other swung limply at his side. He shifted his weight, rankled. Finally he left the end of the gurney and walked toward the center of the Cortex, turning his back to her. "You, you were broken, you were... _hurt_ , you lost people." He turned on a heel, pointing at her in that same angry way. "You've lost just as much as I have." The point was redirected to his own chest. He was getting louder now. "You've suffered, you've been alone. So why didn't it take you too?"

"Why didn't _what_ take—"

"Darkness."

He sounded like Barry. He sounded _just_ like Barry Allen. The same wobble in the undertone, the same climb Barry's voice made as he fought to keep himself in check. The same despair the Flash had to remember and overcome day after day.

Her eyebrows knit together, waiting for him to explain.

Savitar rubbed his good eye, and she thought he looked old then, like he'd lived through too much. Like he'd spent eternity living through too much. "I lost everything. Like you. I've felt that pain, it _consumed_ me." He was nearer to the gurney now, pacing toward it, more and more agitated. "And you didn't let it consume you. No matter what happened, no matter what was taken from you, you—" He bit back the rest, hesitating, thinking. Finally he finished, deeper than the original, gruffer, "You're stronger than I am, Caitlin. I was Barry. And I was good. And now..." Savitar gave a frightening little smile, one without any hope at all, spreading his arms to gesture to himself. His guttural, dry tone returned. He had arrived at the side of the bed. "Well. You can see for yourself."

Caitlin knew she was cured of Nimbus' gas, but she still felt short of breath. She was floored by the sight, the sound, of this much of his mind. Savitar's outburst was like the backpack Barry had mentioned earlier that day, during their video chat. It was as if the remnant were holding the heavy backpack out to her, with one hand, and she was being given the choice to take it from him or not. Maybe that wasn't how he saw it. Maybe to him, he was simply opening it up so that she could see its contents and feel his ache. But she always wanted to take someone else's load. She always saw it as removable, shareable. Because he was right, she'd had one of her own, and she knew the best way to ease it. A burden is only a burden if you decide to focus on the weight.

Caitlin reached over the cup of water and grasped his sleeve.

He stilled, the way he had earlier, but this time he didn't have anywhere to be, any machine to rush to, and perhaps that was why he didn't wrench away. He glanced down at her again, though, but now he looked raw. He looked uncomfortable, eyes flicking to her face and down again, as if regretting saying so much.

Caitlin swung her legs off of the gurney so that she was seated, leaning very slightly on the mound of pillows, on the side of the bed. Her feet dangled, those and her legs tingling madly, and she was glad the room was heated. Autumn air on her toes would not be beneficial to her health after an encounter with The Mist. And she really didn't like cold feet.

Sure now that he wouldn't yank out of her grip, Caitlin gingerly pulled on that black denim cuff, and he followed as if it were a remote for his body's balance, robotically sitting beside her as she directed him.

His head was turned toward her, but his eyes refused to land. "I knew you wouldn't become Frost," he muttered. "You can't. She's not strong enough for you." He said it so neutrally, _well, that's just life_ , but he still somehow sounded like he was pushing back a flood.

Caitlin let go of his sleeve and pressed her weight onto her palms, both of which rested on the gurney. She bit her lip. "I didn't feel strong," she admitted. "Without Ronnie. After Zoom. I felt...empty. And angry. I felt weak, like I—I was someone else." She held the snowflake pendant out in one hand, twisting it, looking down at it but seeing icy white eyes in its shape, seeing pale hair and a wicked smirk. "I'm only strong because I had people there to help me up," she explained at last.

Savitar's exhale was silent, but she saw the air go out of him. He glanced at the entrance to the room, pointedly refusing her gaze, though she hurried on, leaning closer and speaking louder so that he wouldn't have the chance to ignore her.

"I had Barry. And I had Dr. Wells, and Cisco. And even after I was Killer Frost, even when I felt like they didn't care, that they— _couldn't_ help me, Barry reminded me—he said—he said that underneath all the cold and the heartache and the hurt, I was still me. _I_ chose to do the right thing; I chose to change. They just helped me see that...I _had_ that choice." Caitlin paused, watching him. Letting it sink in.

Savitar didn't turn to look at her. But he said, "Having people who cared no matter what you were. No matter what you did." She saw his shoulders jump a little as he snorted. "Must be nice."

Caitlin put a hand on his shoulder, and she felt every muscle in his body freeze and then melt. He was like a cat, leaning into the touch just a tiny bit, just enough to be noticeable. She hadn't thought about how little he had had someone physically reassure him. For someone with Barry's memories—a memory stuffed with hugs and fist bumps and back rubs and hands on shoulders—it must have been like that glass of water on the side table to him.

"You can have that again, Savitar," she said.

A barely-audible chortle. "You say that like I've had it before."

Caitlin managed a little smile at that. At the semantics. "Okay, well—I guess this will be a first, then."

Finally, he glanced at her. His scars were barely noticeable in this light, and his eyes were almost shut; she couldn't tell one from the other. She wondered fleetingly, as only a doctor could, if it was too warm for him in the Cortex, wearing that jacket with the heat on like this. His expression was open, wanting. He swallowed, nodding, not responding audibly to her very clear claim—as his _friend_. He seemed to be waiting for her to retract it, which obviously she had no intention of doing.

"Thank you for helping me," Caitlin told him, pulling her hand away. "Even if it meant taking this off." She turned the pendant in her other hand.

Savitar watched the one that had held his shoulder drop back onto the gurney with slightly starved eyes. "No problem," he mumbled softly, as if hardly hearing her. His own hands were grasping each other, limp and hanging off the edge of the gurney, fingers tightening and unwinding. He looked glazed, like a drowning victim, dazed by what she'd just initiated.

"I know you didn't have to," Caitlin added, babbling now. "And—" She held up a hand before he could say it. "I know you don't _need_ me—but—thank you anyway. You saved my life."

He didn't say anything.

Caitlin got up, leaning against the gurney. Savitar stood too, suddenly jelly where he had been stiff before, loose-limbed and watching her the way a puppy watches its new owner leave it in its bed for the night.

"Where're you going?" he asked throatily.

Caitlin gasped, stumbling. _Oh, of course_. Lack of oxygen, lack of movement. Her entire lower half was numb—asleep. Didn't she feel foolish for not expecting it.

Savitar moved as if on instinct, strong arms and hands catching hers, pushing her upright again. Barry had held her in the same places after Hartley Rathaway's attack on Earth-1, years ago. Maybe he was thinking of the same thing, because when she looked at him, scientific mind following the precise similarities in movement, he let go of her, and she repositioned her hold on the gurney's frame.

"Nowhere in a hurry, apparently," she muttered. "Oh—ah—my head—" She massaged her temple, hoisting herself back up onto the bed.

Savitar's hands were back in his pockets. "I said you'd be sore," he reminded her, voice just a mite less dull than usual.

"Yes, you did," Caitlin cleared her throat, frustrated. "Thank you for that. What about the sample?" she added suddenly, head snapping around to look at him.

Savitar's eyes narrowed. "Your powers crystalized the gas, Caitlin."

"You didn't get it?"

"I was preoccupied," Savitar replied nonchalantly. "You weren't _breathing._ Was a little distracting."

"But—" She tried to curb her irritation. "The gas—it could have components that could be used to develop a cure to Clarissa Stein's damaged lungs. She needs that sample!"

"I'll get Nimbus," Savitar told her suddenly, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. His voice was getting stronger by the minute. "Okay? And Rory. I'll have them back here in two days, tops. Believe me."

"Every minute we wait, she could take her last breath," Caitlin sighed, rubbing her eyes. "It was the perfect opportunity—"

"I don't care. _You_ were the one dying. She held on this long, she can do it a little longer." Savitar took the edge of the gurney's covers and impatiently draped them over her legs. The way he did it made her think his body was on autopilot, not really thinking about it. "I'll deal with it."

"You can't go after him now," Caitlin protested, sitting up again. "I won't be able to help you like this. No more big missions until I'm back on my feet, not right now. All right? If you try going in b—"

"Caitlin." Savitar pressed the glass of water into her hands again, refilled in seconds with his speed.

"What?"

"I know Barry never mentioned this," he said slowly, and she blinked, sitting up even straighter. "But you talk too much."

He watched her take another long drink, and when she had finished she lay back down, getting comfortable. After a moment, she closed her eyes, and the warmth of the room and the weight of the blankets almost had her asleep, breathing in and out, in and out, drinking in the clean air with more appreciation and awareness than she ever remembered having before.

She heard a shuffling noise, and she sat up, propping herself up on an elbow. "What are you doing?" she called.

Savitar was halfway to the exit. He stopped when she spoke, turning to cock his head at her. "Letting you rest."

Caitlin felt her heart soften, a bit like Playdough fresh out of its bin, squished and molded for the first time. His voice was still hoarse, but there was no bite to it now. She wondered if it would stay that way. Its volume made her sleepier.

But the dim lights were flickering, and she suddenly remembered, the way you do at night sometimes, that careless look in those permanently-wide eyes of Nimbus'. She could hear Rory calling her unimportant, she could still smell the gas. The dark made the negatives in her imagination pop out when it was time to go to bed. It would always do that, no matter how old you got, if you had been through certain things.

"Can you—" She was almost embarrassed to ask, then decided she didn't care that much. "Can you turn the lights up? Please?"

Savitar didn't move for a moment. His half-open gaze traveled from her to the lowered lamps on the walls, and he said, "Scared of the dark, Caitlin?"

Before she could answer, he had strolled over to her, pulling a nearby wheeled chair with him. He set it down beside her bed, sitting with his arms crossed over his chest the way they had been the night he'd come out of those nightmares.

Caitlin looked him up and down, calculating.

"How bout we do this instead?" he grunted, leaning back.

Caitlin's eyebrows puckered. Her voice rose above the hushed tones they had been speaking in, skeptical. "You can't just turn on the light?"

He glanced at the switch near the entrance to the room. Then he glanced back at her, back at the switch, back at her, pointing. "It's so far away."

Caitlin could take a hint. She settled back down. "Call me pathetic," she sighed, "but I think I can add Kyle Nimbus and his toxic smell to my dolly dreams now."

Savitar didn't call her pathetic. She opened an eye to see him watching her, expressionless. But what he said was, "You're safe here."

And she could fall asleep. The panic was gone.


	17. Chapter 17: Best Laid Plans

**(This is a long one, guys. Love you! AND: TO THE GUEST REVIEWER WHO SAID IT WAS THEIR BIRTHDAY TODAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! This chapter is for you. -Doverstar)**

* * *

"If I have to postpone my wedding, I just want you to know that I am gonna hold you personally responsible, okay?"

Caitlin rolled her eyes, grinning as she heard Iris suppressing laughter between words. She readjusted the bluetooth, pushing into Jitters, escaping the brisk wind outside. This Earth's version of their favorite hangout place had at least four trees just outside the building, all of them towering orange and red bushels of dying leaves, some of which followed her into the warm cafe when she opened the door.

"You know I won't stay here that long," Caitlin reassured the other woman. "Besides, Barry promised to forcibly eject me from the premises if I'm not back on time, so you have nothing to worry about."

Iris' smile was still evident in her voice. "He really misses you, Caitlin. And while you've been gone, I found something out that is _really_ discouraging for someone who's about to be a full-time wife, by the way."

"What's that?" Caitlin rifled through her purse, pulling out change to pay for her drink.

"I have no idea how to treat a cold. Not for a superhero."

Caitlin burst into breathy laughter, making the woman in line before her turn around. "Barry's still sick?"

"No, it lasted about a day," Iris sighed. "But while he _was_ I couldn't get him to eat anything. His superpowers just burned out literally every medicine I gave him. And we ran out of Kleenex, _and_ I left the stove on too long while I was making him soup."

"I thought you were a great cook," Caitlin said, scanning the menu distractedly. She knew what she wanted—she always got tea—but she'd never had a pumpkin spice latte before, and Earth-66 was shaping up to be the right place for starting new things.

"I am!" Iris sounded indignant. "I am a scary good cook, thank you very much. It was just the canned stuff. But between the shopping for tissues and keeping him from running off on missions all day, I forgot to make sure it didn't burn. That pot was murder to wash."

"Well, at least now you know what to do next time it happens," Caitlin offered sympathetically. "I'm sure Barry appreciates the effort."

"He's sweet like that." Iris sighed. "Speaking of effort, how are things going? You know...with Savitar."

She sounded a little awkward, and Caitlin tried to think what it would be like, being Iris. Seeing your fiancee, the man you grew up with, scarred and broken and wicked. _So_ different from the person you had known your whole life. Not to mention the Infantino Street incident. She couldn't imagine.

"Barry told me you said he was _adjusting_ ," Iris went on, and Caitlin heard running water in the background. She must have been doing dishes. People on Team Flash still washed dishes? It was funny to think about. At least the Wests could always be counted on to bring some form of normalcy to the crew.

"He's fine," Caitlin assured her, a pang of sympathy for the other woman's predicament rushing through her. Iris still cared about the man who had tried to kill her. She wanted him to live a good life. No wonder Barry was so in love. "He's doing fine. He's...keeping busy. Going on missions, ignoring my advice, leaving his burger wrappers all over the place, that sort of thing."

"Barry told me you guys caught Heat Wave? That you're trying to find the—the Mist guy, to save Stein's wife?"

Caitlin paused to place her order, thankful that the bluetooth could be clipped to her ear as she balanced the mug and croissant. "We...found him," she admitted, clearing her throat.

"What?"

So Caitlin told her about their encounter with Nimbus. She told Iris how The Mist had infiltrated the Pipeline and freed Mick Rory. When she came to the part about being attacked, about how Savitar had saved her by using her necklace, Iris stopped her.

"Wait, wait." Iris' voice was sharp. "You inhaled _poison gas_?"

Caitlin took a deep breath. "Yes—I mean—I _did_ , but I told you, the situation was handled. My powers crystalized—"

"Caitlin!" There was a clattering, as if Iris had set a pot down too hard. "You almost _died_. On some other Earth! Do you hear yourself? All on your own, how could you not call us?"

"I know. I'm sorry, believe me. It wasn't ideal," Caitlin admitted, setting her mug and saucer down on a nearby table. "But I wasn't by myself," she reminded her friend. "I had Savitar, he...he _saved_ me, he knew exactly what to do." She waited for that to sink in, for Iris to hear it and feel hopeful for once, to see that the time remnant still had a dash of Barry Allen in him like she'd suspected.

But Iris didn't seem to focus on that part. "It doesn't matter! You should have told him to contact us. You should have told us right away!"

Caitlin blinked in surprise, and a worm of guilt gnawed at her stomach. "You're right. But...I came here knowing the risks."

"Oh, you _knew_ there was a Kyle Nimbus on that Earth and you were totally prepared?"

Caitlin closed her eyes, counting to ten. "No—but—"

"Dying on a parallel Earth without us there is a big deal," Iris exclaimed, tone not any less hard. "Do you have any idea how hard that would've been on your friends? On me, on Cisco? On Barry?"

"You can _not_ tell Barry!" Caitlin interrupted, sitting up straight. She almost knocked her tea over. "This is exactly what he was worried about."

"I'm not keeping secrets from the team," Iris argued. "And I'm definitely not keeping secrets from Barry. We've done that before, and I'm not gonna do it again."

"Iris," Caitlin huffed, "you know what he'll do. He'll run right through the multiverse and bring me back, and I've barely accomplished anything yet!"

"Or he'll stay there with you to fix problem and stop Nimbus himself," Iris agreed. "I get it. Okay? But you can't just survive an attack from a metahuman and not tell him about it. He'll wanna know."

"Why?" Caitlin warmed her hands on her mug, waiting for her laptop to boot up. "So he can worry?" Didn't she see what kind of trouble this whole thing could cause? Unnecessary obstacles.

"No," Iris objected gently. "So he can help you if something like that happens again. Even if you're on another universe, Caitlin, we're still a family. You still need us."

Caitlin smiled at the irony. It was exactly what she'd been preaching to Savitar. "I'll try to remember that next time."

"There better not _be_ a next time," Iris warned, sounding a little lighter-hearted. "And don't worry about Barry. I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." After a moment, she added, sounding thoughtful and confused, "Hey—how did The Mist know about the Pipeline? How did he know you guys had Rory?"

Caitlin paused, a chill running up her spine as she remembered the eerie confidence Nimbus had walked with when he'd breached their facility. "I'm not sure. They both knew about Savitar—they were planning on killing me as some kind of... _warning_ to him, they said." She stared at the tabletop, thinking. "And they both mentioned following orders."

"Orders?"

Caitlin nodded, forgetting Iris couldn't see her. "Someone told Nimbus to contaminate that bistro Clarissa Stein got caught in. And Rory said something about following orders again in the bank the day we stopped him." She felt her heartbeat quicken, her mind whirling. "They're definitely working together."

"Caitlin," Iris said slowly, sounding more concerned than ever, "it sounds like you guys are onto something big."

"Mick Rory said Savitar was _in over his head_ ," Caitlin agreed, tilting her head.

"You can't tackle something like this so soon," Iris fretted. "I mean, you guys haven't even been there a month yet. We have to tell the others, you need a team behind you for this."

"Of course." The realization hit Caitlin all at once. There was something grander going on on Earth-66, and she and Savitar had walked right into it. Obviously they couldn't sit by—at least _she_ wouldn't. But they couldn't do anything on their own. "The first thing we need to do is find Nimbus and Rory," she went on. "We can save Clarissa _and_ get some answers once we've got them back in the Pipeline."

"Maybe Cisco has something that can—I don't know—protect you from that poison gas stuff?" Iris offered. "So that you can catch Nimbus without practically _dying_ next time?"

Caitlin's eyebrows rose, she finished a sip of her tea. "That's a good idea."

"Excuse you, don't sound surprised!" Iris chuckled, indignant. "I'm full of those."

Caitlin managed a grin in spite of the weight of this new conclusion they'd come to. "I mean—if we had something like the power-dampening cuffs Cisco sent, something we can use if we get close enough to him—"

"I'll tell him," Iris offered. "We'll get right on it."

"Thank you, Iris."

"Of course. And you know—" Iris' voice took on a sly tone. "You're gonna have to come back here to get them. I don't think any of us will be satisfied with just tossing them into a breach and sending them gift-wrapped. I know Cisco's not going to let you get by without a visit."

The thought made Caitlin out-and-out beam. "I think that can be arranged." She glanced up, spotting a familiar face coming in the door. "Besides," she added quietly, "I'm working on the whole _team_ problem a we speak. I'll talk to you later, Iris."

"If you hang up I'm gonna have to go and tell the others what happened," Iris sighed. "I don't have anything else to do. It's my day off."

"Good luck."

"Bye, Caitlin."

Professor Stein reached her table just as Caitlin pocketed the bluetooth device. He looked a little disheveled; hair not perfectly combed, the collar of his jacket a bit crooked. It was similar to the way his Earth-1 counterpart looked just after he and Ronnie had split.

But his eyes were as sharp as ever when he glanced at her. "Good morning, Miss Snow," he greeted breathlessly, sitting across from her.

"It's good to see you, Professor," Caitlin replied, smiling. "How's Clarissa doing today?"

Martin waved a hand. "The same as ever, I'm afraid. Though there is a silver lining, I suppose, in that her condition hasn't worsened."

Caitlin nodded. "I'm glad."

"Miss Snow," Stein cleared his throat, giving her a firm look. "Your rather vague message on my answering machine—it gave me the impression that you didn't intend to meet today for mere small-talk and a cup of coffee. I have a meeting to attend at precisely 10:30, so I hope you'll forgive me if I ask that we come straight to the point." He raised his eyebrows when she didn't respond right away. "If...there _is_ a point? Am I mistaken?"

Caitlin looked at her now-cold croissant, wondering how she should proceed. "Professor Stein..." She bit her lip. "Do you remember when you told me you couldn't get a clear description of the man who hurt your wife?"

Stein nodded, gaze calculating.

"I—" Caitlin hesitated, preparing. "I've seen him."

Martin's entire face went slack. His eyes grew harder, his hands tightened around the edge of the table. He scooted his chair forward. "I beg your pardon?" he managed to whisper.

"A few nights ago," Caitlin began. "He—he attacked me." She rubbed the pendant on her necklace. "I got out alive," she added cautiously, avoiding a lie, "but I _did_ see him. I know who he is."

Stein's blue eyes seemed very wet suddenly. But his mouth was a tight, straight line. "Who?" was all he could get out.

"His name is Kyle Nimbus." Caitlin had already pulled the newspaper article up on her laptop. She turned the computer around so that the Professor could examine it. The page was about Nimbus' arrest, his death sentence. It was nearly the same set of circumstances that had condemned him—and eventually led to gaining abilities—on Earth-1. The difference was that there had been no Flash to stop him over the past three years, and she shuddered to think of the long list of people who had met the same fate she'd been so close to meeting.

Stein stared at the picture of Nimbus for what seemed like an eternity, jaw set. Finally he moved onto the actual article, reading it much quicker than Caitlin had expected, pausing only to scroll or adjust his spectacles.

He looked up at her shakily when he was finished. "So _this_ is how he's evaded capture," he murmured. "The public, the authorities—they all expect him to have died after the trial. But the opposite is true." He searched her gaze. "How is this possible, Miss Snow? How can this be the man who attacked my wife?"

Caitlin cleared her throat, winding her hands together. "Three years ago," she murmured carefully, "when S.T.A.R. Labs' particle accelerator failed—the wave of energy—I believe it may have altered several people's DNA. It— _changed_ them."

Stein glanced back at the article. "Yes of course, I-I hypothesized such a reaction, just after the accident, in fact. There were rumors, of course. A young lady who could, eh, change her physical form into something resembling metal. The death of a man who supposedly manipulated _playing cards_ in order to carry out particularly gruesome crimes, as ludicrous as it sounds." He reached over, zooming in on Nimbus' photo. "But how could—" Caitlin barely had a chance to keep up a his mind worked his mouth, scanning the column on the screen. "Ah. A gas chamber."

Martin sat back in his seat, teeth clearly ground together, knuckles white on his knees. Caitlin watched him warily, unsure what to say next, unsure if he was finished yet. He needed to take it all in, she knew. But she had to be careful. Soon enough more questions would come spilling out. Someone as intelligent as Stein, she couldn't give him all the information she possessed. It wouldn't take much for him to piece together exactly where she was from—and she wasn't ready to let him in on all the details just yet.

"So this—this _Nimbus_ character can literally _become_ a toxic substance? Affect the unprepared, the innocent people who don't know enough not to breathe him in? Like yourself, like my wife?" Stein's voice was low, slightly dangerous.

Caitlin nodded.

"And he isn't the only one," Stein breathed. He shut his eyes for a moment. "There are others out there, yes? Other—other—"

"Metahumans," Caitlin offered quietly.

He opened his eyes, pointing to her. "Metahumans. It's all true. The particle accelerator endowed certain unlucky individuals in the city with incredible abilities," he murmured, gaze far away, "and one of them is a murderer." He glared at the screen of her laptop. " _He_ has taken Clarissa from me."

"Not yet," Caitlin interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "There's still a way we can save her. Professor, I want to help save your wife. I think there's a way, especially now that—now that we know who he is, what he can do—if we could somehow find him again—"

"And extract a sample of his gas, yes," Stein agreed, speaking quickly, the way Caitlin knew only scientists could when coming up with solutions. "There might be key components inside—if one could decipher precisely how the gas affected others, how it affected Clarissa, it could..." He didn't allow himself to finish the thought. "But it's nearly impossible. We would need proof, proof Nimbus didn't die after his trial, the way he should have, in order to get help from the proper authorities. That alone will be difficult enough, not to mention the hours of research it could take to devise a reverse once we _have_ the gas..." He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "The particle accelerator. What was supposed to be Harrison Wells' greatest achievement, and _this_ is what comes of it? All those people whose lives have been—been so dramatically altered—"

He stopped after looking up, eyes bright. Focused on something just past Caitlin' shoulder, off in the corner of the room. At first she wondered if he was just ruminating, thinking, but with a glance backward she found he was transfixed by the television mounted on the wall behind them.

It was Sandra Peterson, the newscaster. Subtitles framed by black at the bottom of the screen told them he was doing another segment on Central City's savior, the 'shadow'. Caitlin felt her face cement in interest. They'd managed to snatch a photo of Savitar—or something close to it, anyway. A bird's-eye view shot showed him racing through the streets, just a blur of black, but definitely a humanoid figure. According to the subtitles, Savitar had stopped another robbery downtown the night before.

"There," murmured Stein, and Caitlin's head snapped back around to look at him as he spoke. The Professor was gazing at the television screen, a spark of something similar to hope in the corners of his mouth, in the way his fingers relaxed. " _That_ , Miss Snow, is how one should take advantage the extraordinary curveball life threw at us the day Wells' grand scheme backfired. Instead of hurting the innocent, this...this _shadow_ , or whatever it is they're calling him, is risking his life to keep them safe." A small smile graced his tired old face. "He _is_ a metahuman, I see that now. Like so many others. If only those _others_ were also inclined to help, and not to harm. What a fantastic place this city would become."

Caitlin couldn't help grinning back at him. That sealed it. "Professor, I have to ask...do you mind my doing this? I mean—do I have your permission? To track down Nimbus? This is your fight, after all."

Stein's far away look cleared. He laced his fingers together, elbows on the tabletop. "Miss Snow, it would be an honor to have you assist me in saving my wife and defeating that criminal." He frowned. "But—forgive me—how are you going to achieve what I spent the past three years trying and failing to do?"

She watched him, thinking it over. She couldn't tell him everything. But... _to help and not to harm_. That proved it, proved more than ever that he was the person she should be looking for, the man they needed on this Earth's Team Flash. It was time to give him the information he needed to get that ball rolling. He was already on their side.

"I won't be doing it alone," Caitlin began. "I have a friend who can help us. And contrary to popular belief, he's _not_ a shadow," she went on, chortling.

Professor Stein's jaw loosened. He controlled his surprise, instead squaring his shoulders and leaning forward.

"He calls himself Savitar..."

* * *

On Earth-1, Iris West was having a hard day.

Not only had she had to wash all of her dishes by hand that morning, after discovering their dishwasher was broken, but she had spilled coffee all over her favorite skirt on the way to S.T.A.R. Labs. Cue turning around to change clothes, which took a good 45 minutes with city traffic—cursing the day the accelerator had gone off, giving her fiancee super speed instead of the people who _really_ needed it. Then she'd gotten a call from her boss, demanding she come in to work later that evening to finish up an article that hadn't been due until next week but was now being moved to tomorrow's paper. It was supposed to be her day off.

She was on a strict low-carb diet in order to make sure she fit her wedding dress, and of course, upon arriving at S.T.A.R. Labs, she saw that Cisco had surrounded himself with products from Big Belly Burger (which smelled amazing), Ben and Jerry's ice cream parlor (which smelled amazing) and a whole bag of licorice (which smelled a little strong, but when you were hungry it still smelled amazing). And she couldn't have any of it, and he was very happy about that and took the opportunity to eat all of it really slowly in front of her as the day wore on.

Now, on top of it all, she had to tell Barry—who had just run in from a successful mission with ruffled hair from his suit's hood, looking downright adorable—that one of his best friends had almost died a few days ago and had neglected to call him. _And_ she somehow had to keep him from rushing to another world to drag said best friend back home, or staying there himself and prolonging the time leading up to their wedding, because he couldn't _not_ help. Which she loved. But today it was testing her.

"Barry." Iris hadn't meant to awkwardly interrupt his fist-bump session with Cisco, but if that was what it took, fine. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

The Flash glanced at her, grinning, totally clueless. "Sure."

She led him out into the corridor, thinking hard about how she was going to keep him here. Cisco watched them leave, and Iris wondered if it was a good idea doing this privately, instead of breaking it to the whole team at once. No, probably best it was just one person at a time freaking out on her. Besides, Barry was easier to control when an entire group of people weren't backing up his stress with their own.

"What's up?" Barry asked as soon as they were alone, expression only slightly concerned, but obviously all ears.

Iris leaned her back against the wall, trying to look as calm as she could. That would probably help. "So...I talked to Caitlin this morning—"

His eyes immediately lit up. "Yeah? How's she doing?"

"Great." Her smile felt forced. She made it wider, licked her lips. "I mean, she's okay now, she—"

Barry spoke over her, eyebrows coming down. " _Now_? What happened?"

"She's fine, she's fine," Iris informed him, waving her hands. "You remember how she told you they caught Rory—"

"Iris." His voice was hard at this point, and he moved forward two steps, eliminating the space in between them so that he was standing over her, head tilted. "What _happened_?"

"I'm trying to tell you, Barry," Iris countered, standing a little straighter herself. "Caitlin said she was looking for The Mist the last time you talked, right?" Barry nodded, using a thumb to run over his chin, resting that elbow on his other arm. His _fretting_ pose. "Well, they found him."

Barry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Don't tell me he—"

"He freed Rory from the Pipeline," Iris explained quickly, "but he got Caitlin before he left."

Barry turned away, running both hands through his hair. She could hear him struggling to control his breathing. Iris moved to put a hand on his arm, but figured it was probably best to let him ride it out. She knew Barry's biggest fear was losing anyone else in his life, no matter how they went. Especially anyone on Team Flash. They were his anchors, the people he'd do anything for. He'd lost so much already, and though Iris had a significant lack of a mother and a certain blonde fiancee in her own life, the only other person who had gone through that particular kind of trauma (speedster-induced, particle-accelerator caused trauma) was—then it clicked. She knew how to keep him here.

"How did she survive?" Barry demanded, turning on his heel. "You said she was okay."

"Savitar," Iris was pleased to report. "He got her out. She said he...took off her necklace, her powers—healed her, somehow." She let out a half-hearted chortle. "Science stuff, I don't know. But the point is, she's alive. And obviously she's not Killer Frost, so...I mean, she definitely sounded fine earlier."

Barry put a hand to his forehead, looking at the floor. "Why didn't she call me? She can't just—"

"I told her," Iris cut him off, hands sliding into the pockets of her jeans. "But I guess it's hard to think when you can't breathe."

That was the wrong thing to say. Iris wanted to give herself a good slap the moment it left her mouth. Barry went pale, worse than he had when he'd had that cold a week ago. His mouth grew tight, eyes like rock. He shook his head at the ground, staring at nothing. Finally, he erupted.

"No. This was a bad idea," he muttered. "Nimbus, Rory—I shouldn't have let her go. She's the only one there. She could've—"

"She didn't," Iris assured him. She did put a hand on his arm now, drawing his attention back to her. "Savitar was there, he stopped it. She wasn't alone."

"It doesn't matter, Iris, she almost _died_ ," Barry scoffed, raising his voice. "And I wasn't with her. None of us were!" Another shaking of the head. "I'm getting her back, we can't lose her. It's too—"

"You're not hearing me." Iris stood in his path as he tried to storm past. "She wasn't alone, Barry. She had Savitar. You _were_ there." Her eyes flicked away for a moment, then back again, adding in a baffled sort of way, "Sort of. He wasn't gonna let her die."

"You don't know that," Barry growled. He hadn't looked this angry since Infantino Street, since H.R. "He took off her necklace. He knows what that could do to her, She would _rather_ die than become Killer Frost, but he did it anyway. And where was he when Caitlin went into the Pipeline, why didn't he stop the Mist before anything could happen to her?"

It was very odd, watching him talk about his time remnant like this. Iris knew it was one part blaming himself, one part blaming someone else. If _she_ felt weird about Savitar, she couldn't begin to understand what her fiancee felt. Not everyone had the chance to criticize themselves—at least, not with an actual, physical _copy_ making decisions you were free to disapprove of. Barry loved to take the blame for everything. It was all too easy for him to cast it on a duplicate.

"Hey," Iris interrupted sharply. "At least he got to her before it was too late, right? It's not like this is the first time a metahuman outsmarted us. He saved her, that's what matters."

But Barry didn't seem to be listening. "I'm bringing her home."

Iris took his hand and didn't let go. He couldn't blast away to some other Earth with her hanging on. Or maybe he could, but it probably wouldn't be easy, and that was better than letting him run off. Mission halfway accomplished? Even if she was holding on for dear life in a trip through the multiverse?

"You can't, Barry, that wasn't the deal. Caitlin can take care of herself. Okay? Trust her."

He let out a bitter little puff of laughter, turning to look down at her. "No, Iris, no she can't! She can't take care of herself, she was _this close_ to dying! And we had no idea."

"Then trust Savitar." Iris kept a firm grip on his hand, locking eyes with him. "Savitar is _you,_ Barry. He has your memories, he has your feelings."

Barry still strained, just a tiny bit, in her grasp, but he was watching her with focus now, at least. Some knowing flash in his eyes made her plow on, and she wondered for a minute what he was referencing in his own mind, picturing his double.

"I was late to this whole S.T.A.R. Labs party," Iris continued confidently. "But I know you and Caitlin have a connection. You have always had her back, and she's always had yours. Savitar knows what that's like. He _saved_ her, Barry," she repeated. Millionth time's the charm. "Doesn't that prove that he'll have her back too?"

Barry relaxed, she felt it in the hand she held, and he sighed. "Okay," he muttered. "You're right. I know she can do it, I just—"

"You want to help," Iris' eyebrows bounced. "I know." He grunted, looking into the distance. She could still see the worry in his eyes, so she added, "We're gonna get Cisco to help stop Nimbus. He's gonna make something, and she's coming back to get it." Iris gave him a little smile. "Then you can yell at _her_ for a change."

Barry grinned then, and she laughed when he admitted, "Okay, _that_ I'm looking forward to."

* * *

Caitlin was exhausted. Swapping plans with Stein over Nimbus and fielding all his questions—even the ones he texted after they'd both left Jitters—about the renovated S.T.A.R. Labs and Savitar really took it out of a person. That and the fact that Barry had treated her to a very long, very all-over-the-place video chat in the Cortex about calling the Flash when the Flash's friend was in trouble—she was ready for an early night.

The corridors were dark on her way to her room; some of the lights were still dysfunctional. She tried not to see Nimbus' eyes and hear Rory's step every time she passed a dark patch, training her brain to flick to something else instead when it happened—like reconstructing the Periodic Table from memory. This was one of those times she wished she carried her phone everywhere with her, the way normal people did. Cisco's interdimensional walkie-talkie did not come with a built-in flashlight, to her surprise and irritation.

When she reached the doorway to her quarters, a noise made her whirl around, but thankfully this metahuman intrusion was welcome.

Savitar was coming around the corner, leaning against the wall as he came to a stop several feet from her.

Caitlin gave him a tentative smile. "I heard you had a busy day," she greeted him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Did I?"

"You are apparently Sandra Peterson's favorite topic on the Central City news," Caitlin elaborated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She looked at the ceiling, rattling off, "Stopped a mugger, prevented a suicide, _zero_ casualties in a head-on collision...oh, _and_ the robbery last night." She mimicked his raised eyebrow. "You've become quite the vigilante, Flash."

He glanced down the corridor, shaking his head slightly, but there was the hint of a smirk in his voice as he said, "We're not calling me that."

"You're going to need an official title eventually," Caitlin informed him. "The media is very interested in the _shadow_. They even got a picture of you."

"We're not calling me that either," Savitar ordered, looking at her now. "And I don't need everybody knowing who's behind all the hero work around here."

Caitlin cocked her head. "I don't follow you."

Using his speed, Savitar was an arm's length from her in a heartbeat. "I can save as many kittens from big, bad trees as I want to," he murmured, squinting down at her, "but _this—_ " a hand flickering up to the web of scars, "—isn't a face people are gonna trust."

She took a good look at the damage in the half light. Particularly gnarly near his mouth, stretching up to cloud one eye and curling over his left eyebrow before fading out at his hairline. It even grabbed at his ear, down his neck.

"How _did_ that happen?" Caitlin asked quietly. Louder, she added in a flustered sort of way, "If you don't mind my—"

"I got in a fight," Savitar said dryly. "With myself."

Of course. The day he'd been created—also the day he'd been cast into the Speed Force. The day he'd slaughtered 2024 Barry's time remnants—also the day he'd been the only surviving one.

Caitlin winced at him, both for the migraine it must have taken to have to think about all that, and for the pain he must've felt.

"Nah..." Savitar seemed to read the expression perfectly, and he did smirk now, looking down at her with eyes a little more open. His voice was still low, though. "You should see the other guy."

Caitlin rolled her eyes halfway and said, shrugging a shoulder, "Maybe we can fix them."

Savitar's snort was very soft, but she still felt it, he was so near. Felt his skepticism too.

"I mean it," Caitlin insisted. "You're right—those are definitely going to be a challenge when it comes to getting you to fit in here. But I talked to Cisco a few hours ago..."

Savitar visibly seemed to stop listening; he turned so that his profile was facing her and leaned with his back against the doorframe. She went on anyway.

"He's working on something that will protect us from the Mist's powers when we see him again. I'll need to make a trip back to Earth-1 to get them, and when I do...maybe I can find something there that will help." She glanced again at his scars. They weren't pretty to look at, obviously, but she wasn't afraid of them anymore.

Savitar stood up straight again. "When?"

"Hmm?"

"When are you going back?"

Caitlin fidgeted, not sure why he wanted to know, scrunching her nose up. "Whenever Cisco is ready with the device. It...could be a few hours, it could be a few days. You know how he is—he could call me in the middle of the night and I'd have to pack up and go, so...it'll only be for a day, at most..."

Savitar stared at her. His eyes moved from nose to her eyes to her hair to her mouth, back to her nose again. He stared at her for much longer than people should stare—two minutes at least—and she wondered what on earth he was thinking about now. She could read Barry's expression like an essay, but Savitar's was so closed-off, it was impossible. Just when she was starting to get uncomfortable, he spoke.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" He made the sound in his throat that people made when they talked while stretching, a kind of rasp, and turned and began heading down the hall to his own room. "See you tomorrow, Caitlin." Over his shoulder he added in a deadpan, "Or not."

Caitlin relaxed, watching him go, more than a little perplexed. "Goodnight," she muttered, shaking her head. Time for some much-needed rest.


	18. Chapter 18: Hands Off

**(Sorry this is shorter, guys! Sleep and I are not friends anymore. -Doverstar)**

* * *

It was late afternoon on Earth-66 when Savitar began his rounds of the city. The streets were slightly wet with the rain that had drizzled early that morning, and the air smelled cold. So far there hadn't been any criminals to subdue, no car crashes, no muggers, no broken bones of any kind. Everything was quiet—or as quiet as a bustling metropolis could be on a weekend. Another boring day in the copy of the Central City he remembered, with no job and a face that was only safe to be seen in S.T.A.R. Labs.

"Savitar!"

There was one silver lining, however. A bossy silver lining.

He turned a corner. "What is it, Caitlin?"

"I just patched into the local police band. There's a hostage situation in a small bank on the East side. Get down there!"

"Lucky me." Savitar slid to a stop. "Which way is that from here?"

"Head up three blocks and take a right. Then keep going straight. It'll be on your left, across the street from the mall—"

"Here." He heard her let out a puff of air, exasperated. She underestimated him. Ironic.

Savitar had not switched off his comms during a mission since the day Caitlin had swallowed a bit of Kyle Nimbus. She didn't mention this change of pace, and he preferred it that way. He was becoming a little more accustomed to her commentary, her direction, when he was out and about doing the hero thing. There was less of a the usual charge coursing through him, urging him to start a dispute between them, and she was less prone to lectures. Something was obviously different, and though he wasn't interested in diving into the how and why, he wasn't complaining.

"Heat sensors indicate that everyone's at the back of the building," Caitlin reported in his ear.

Savitar gave the bank a good once-over. It was definitely small, half the size of the one downtown. Outside, there were police cars creating a barrier to the rest of the world, cordoning off the section of the street that held the threat. It was overcast; the flashing blue and red lights were even more obnoxious without the sunshine to drown them out.

A voice rose above the chatter and the orders. A blonde head could be seen past the cars.

"We've already tried negotiating. She's not taking it anymore. I _know_ the protocol, sir—no. No sir, we've gotta go in. There're too many civilians at risk, the longer we wait..."

Eddie Thawne was on his two-way radio, eyebrows furrowed. Clearly he was acting as Crisis Response Team leader here. He seemed to be sweating slightly, and one hand was on his hip. Definitely stressed. He turned his back to the bank and caught sight of Savitar, who was vibrating several yards away, taking in the scene.

Eddie's face slackened. He said something quietly into the radio and pocketed it in a hurry. Savitar stood there a moment longer, looking at that weary face he had once recognized as a friend. Alive, breathing. For Barry Allen, it had been two years since he'd seen Eddie Thawne, since he'd seen Joe's partner, the most selfless man he knew. For Savitar, it had been eons.

You would think he'd feel sad, seeing Eddie. Or pleased, shocked, happy to note that at least on this Earth, the best of the Thawne bloodline wasn't gone forever. You'd be wrong.

No, Savitar was _so_ accustomed to bitterness. Eddie was an old friend, but pain was an older one. Therefore the first feeling he had when they locked eyes was a wave of disgust. He remembered watching Eddie swoop in, just suddenly _always there_ after waking up from the coma, in what was supposed to be _his_ life, his family. _His_ Iris West. Eddie had been an interruption for most of the time they had known each other—part obstacle, part ally, fully unnecessary in Savitar's eyes. Looking back, all he could think was that Eddie had only been good for getting rid of the Reverse Flash. He wasn't supposed to marry Iris, wasn't supposed to know the Flash, wasn't supposed to _be_ much of anything at all, so his death was inevitable and convenient for everyone. Everyone except, of course, Eddie himself.

But then, Savitar knew what it was like to be thrown aside, to be a disposable hero. So those wretched thoughts drained out of him almost as soon as they flitted in, which had never really happened to him before. He tried to look at Thawne and see a clean slate—not Earth-1's dearly departed golden boy, but Earth-66's detective.

And right now, Earth-66's detective had a big problem—one that was easily fixed, actually. If you were fast enough.

It was all a blur of his senses. The smell of the wet asphalt, shoulder brushing past Eddie, hand on the glass as he pushed through the double doors, grabbing one hostage—a middle-aged man in a suit—and delivering him outside before doing it over again. One by one, all twelve hostages were in the safe zone, behind the barricade of cars and armed officers.

"How many of these heat signatures belong to the actual criminal?" Caitlin cut into his running time; she must be watching him deposit the little red dots outside the building.

"Looks like there's only one," Savitar replied, coming to a halt inside the bank, now emptied of the innocent.

The perp heard him, turning with a swish of honey-colored hair. She was wearing long gloves made of strange, metallic material. And dressed in all black, save a glittering, golden belt around her waist. She smirked when she saw him.

"They said you were real," Lisa Snart greeted him, raising her eyebrows. "I told them I wouldn't believe it till I saw you for myself. It is _you_ , isn't it? You're the funny little shadow stealing our spotlight? _You_ put my pathetic big brother in prison for that museum escapade?" She clicked her tongue. "Lenny always was riding my coattails. I'm surprised he met you before I did." She was whining now.

Here was a cute change of pace. A female culprit. Somehow hostage-holding was something one typically associated with rough, burly males in ski masks. Didn't make her any less of a threat, especially given the identity of this particular female culprit. Earth-66 or no, no one in the Snart family should be underestimated.

Unless you were the God of Speed, and you had dealt with much worse, much more formidable, than the baby sister of a dry-witted Legend. Savitar went on vibrating, not deigning to respond, but a little intrigued to see her.

Caitlin's voice, in comparison to Lisa's, was very much like the first sip of cool water after eating a spoonful of peanut butter. "What's going on? You stopped."

"Shame on me for being the only Doubting Thomas, hmm?" Lisa went on, smirking, and he didn't respond to Snow. "Tall? Check. Dark? Check." She began moving toward him cautiously. "Now if you'd quit with the little buzzing act, we could have _handsome_ marked off and get the complete set."

Her simpering drawl was getting old. Savitar smirked back. "Guess you'll be taking my word for it," he retorted, vocal chords distorting his voice.

"Oh, no, I think I'll know for sure in just a sec."

It happened in slow motion for him. Her hand went to her pocket, pulled out a simple pistol. Savitar heard the shot ring out, but by the time the sound had diminished, he was behind her, viciously kicking her legs out from under her. Her weapon flew from her hand, and he wasted no time snatching it up before it could drop even another inch.

Lisa hit the tile floor with what sounded like a good, bruising _thunk_. She winced, flipping over, crouching to stand, but when she caught sight of the pistol pointed in her direction, she froze.

A flirty, intrigued smile flickered. "Did you just hit a girl?"

"I'm a bad boy." He cocked the weapon lazily. "Gotta say, this wasn't the best plan—I've had a lot practice dodging bullets this month."

"Third time's the charm," came Caitlin's dry voice in his ear. He tilted his head in response, an admission of a gesture, pursing his lips.

"I heard you were fast," Lisa chuckled, rising to a standing position at last, palms out. "But I didn't think they meant _that_ fast. You stole my little toy before I even got up. Why use a gun when you could just take me out in a flash?" She snapped her fingers.

Savitar grunted. "Trying to stay on theme."

This only seemed to make her giddier. "What should I call you?"

"How 'bout _annoyed_? Stop talking." That sneer in her tone was getting unbearable.

She didn't stop talking. Why was he surrounded by women who didn't shut up? Her long, gold nails clicked when she gestured with her hands.

"You just _love_ to spoil our fun, don't you?" Lisa pouted. "I'm not allowed to make this city a little more exciting? That's all we're supposed to do. But you, you're everywhere, getting into our business. Meddling. I was wondering if you'd show up on my first run, I mean—you stopped to chat with the others, right? Started with Lenny, then poor old Rory..."

So she was with them. One big group. Heat Wave, the Mist. Now Golden Glider. Caitlin had told him her suspicions, that they'd stumbled upon something larger than just a rogue or two. This changed things. He had intended to hand her over to Eddie and his locked and loaded groupies, speed away and maybe get some lunch, but that might not be the wisest plan just yet. Everyone knows villains love to monologue. Maybe he _should_ give her a chance to talk too much.

"And then Nimbus paid you a visit, didn't he? Really stinks up the joint, can't take him anywhere," Lisa continued. She pasted on the expression one wore when bumping into an acquaintance at the grocery store and making polite conversation. "That reminds me! Your girlfriend—the nurse, right? How _is_ she?"

Savitar's finger slid onto the trigger, ceasing to vibrate.

Lisa's smile got wider. "Kyle told me all about it. Have you picked out the headstone yet?"

 _Chance over_. Something red twitched in his brain. Speed wasn't necessary here. Savitar aimed the gun.

"Stop, do _not_ shoot her!"

 _Caitlin_. The red writhed, then flickered out. She must have hacked into the bank's security cameras at last, seeing what was actually going on, who he was dealing with. Savitar felt the bloodlust roaring in his ears die down to the usual growl, and he started up the vibrating again. Lisa watched him, looking curious, just a little confused at his obvious indecision.

"She's just trying to rile you up," Caitlin went on firmly. "She wants to distract you. You can't see it from your angle, but I tapped into the west corner's security feed, and Lisa has another gun strapped to her belt. It's—it's a revolver. About 2.16 inches long."

Savitar shook his head slightly, impressed. And a little envious. A weapon that small could be useful, and clearly easy to hide. "Nice try," he spat to Lisa.

A twist of yellow energy swarmed around Snart, and Savitar had confiscated both her weapons, taking her outside and shoving her to the wet ground at Eddie Thawne's feet, borrowing a pair of handcuffs along the way.

Eddie, face the perfect picture of bewilderment, recovered long enough to yank the young woman up and restrain her. He peered at Savitar, who had paused to let go of Lisa, image still distorted.

"Thanks," Eddie breathed out, clearly too surprised to be very articulate.

Savitar didn't respond, turning and racing from the barricaded area, back onto the streets. But Caitlin's voice made him halt a few yards away from the bank.

"I'm picking up an odd reading from your suit. Come back to S.T.A.R. Labs so I—"

"Wait!"

Eddie. Savitar whipped around as Thawne crossed the street to meet him. His palms tingled.

"Go back to your team, Detective," Savitar ordered, leaning backward involuntarily.

Eddie shook his head, breathing a little quicker from the jog it had taken to catch up to the speedster. He had been holding his two-way radio and slid it into his belt as he reached Savitar. His eyes were wide, and a little desperate, and the way he carried himself, you'd think he was approaching a wild animal.

"You remember me," Eddie said, sounding a little stunned.

"You're the guy who got in my way," Savitar conceded, trying to control his tone. He didn't need Eddie's interventions, his questions. He didn't need an interaction at all. And there wasn't anything Eddie wanted that he could give. This was a waste of time.

"We both seem to like bank cases, that's for sure," Eddie added, offering a friendly smile. "That was incredible—what you just did. It could've been messy without—"

"What do you want?" Savitar cut him off.

Eddie's smile froze. "I need your help."

Savitar shook his head. "Whatever it is, you can take care of it yourself. I'm not for sale, Detective."

"Savitar," Caitlin cut in sharply. "I need you back here."

Savitar flexed his fingers; they were feeling tingly too. He was antsy to get running again. But Eddie held out a hand, urging him to stay.

"Rory," Eddie explained, talking quickly. "Mick Rory, the perp, the one you caught last time. What did you do with him?" His voice grew hard, steady. "I just need to know where he is."

Savitar paused, taking in Eddie's countenance. The other man was bent almost double, as if becoming smaller might keep the speedster from racing off. His tone was low and urgent. Whatever this thing was about Rory, it was extremely important to Thawne. Savitar had seen that look before, eyes that were strained and pleading. He'd seen it in himself, more than once, back when he was Barry. Back when he allowed himself to show any desperation physically, when his emotions weren't chained down.

"I didn't," Savitar replied crushingly. He uncurled his fingers, letting the cool air hit them, slightly distracted. "He got away."

Eddie's eyebrows drew together. He straightened, forgetting his _no_ _sudden movements_ posture. "What?"

"Now, Savitar!" There was Caitlin again.

"How did he get past you?" Eddie demanded. "You just—you just cleared a building in seconds!"

Was he actually _angry_? After the speedster had done his job for him? Savitar turned, rolling his eyes. Eddie Thawne, resident Taker. Enough was never enough, Earth-1 _or_ Earth-66. He wasn't about to explain the Pipeline incident, or what had happened to Doctor Snow on his watch, or anything, really. Eddie didn't _need_ to know; he wasn't entitled to the information, to all the facts. Catching Rory was now Savitar's job. And the former God of Speed had no desire to continue the conversation.

"I was busy," He tossed over a shoulder.

With that passing, nonchalant jibe, he sped away, back into the heart of the city, leaving Eddie to stand on the side of the street and stare uncomprehendingly after him.

* * *

By the time he reached S.T.A.R. Labs—and it only took him about twelve minutes—Savitar's hands felt like they were on fire.

 _Something odd_ about his suit. Right.

He went straight to his quarters, the gloves of his costume smoking. Savitar changed into his civilian clothes, thinking that the removal of the hero outfit would fix the problem, but no such luck. His palms were bright pink and blistered, and the tinge was creeping down his wrists, too. He gritted his teeth. It was like a bee sting, only a million times worse, and on _both_ hands.

He remembered being burned after cooking pancakes for the first time when he was fourteen. He remembered wearing a blue tee shirt and carrying the pan to the dining room table to serve Joe a homemade breakfast, only to lose footing and clumsily, slowly try to rectify the mistake by catching the bottom of the pan with his hands. Big mistake. Of course, he'd let go of it a second after, but by then there was enough damage to be a distraction for about a week. Joe had run cold water over his palms every night—it was only then that the stinging officially stopped.

This was not some kitchen-catastrophe burn. This was something a little more deadly. Blisters, small and scorching, in between his fingers and across the backs of his hands. Savitar winced, thinking fast. Cold water wouldn't help. Luckily he knew of something colder.

He was in the Cortex half a second later, ceasing to run once he reached the entrance and walking a few urgent steps inside, glancing around. "Caitlin!" he shouted.

"One second!" She was up on the dais to the left, behind the glass demonstration board, fiddling with a few beakers and liquids he didn't recognize. She must have brought them from Earth-1. Calling without turning around or even standing up straight, she added, "I'm—"

Savitar was at her side before she'd finished.

"—coming," Caitlin finished, trailing off quickly when she felt him accidentally nudge her upon halting. "So the scanners—stop, what are you _doing_?"

Savitar had taken her by the arm and pulled her around hard so that she was facing him. "Give me your hands."

"What?"

"Both of them, now!" He didn't wait for her to obey. He reached over and plucked an empty test tube from her right hand and grabbed it, lacing fingers with her. He did the same thing again with her free hand.

True to her altered genetics, her hands were abnormally chilled. She must be so used to it by now. Even with her silly little necklace, her powers were so ingrained into her DNA that her very skin was pulsing with abilities just as sharp as his own. Frigid digits, fingernails like metal railings in the winter wind. He wondered briefly, in the back of his mind, if her arms, her nose, basically if the rest of her was just as constantly icy as her hands were. She must have the coldest feet on the planet.

Caitlin, concerned, confused, and certainly a little uncomfortable, looked down at their locked hands. "Savitar?"

Savitar squeezed his eyes shut, wincing still, letting the cold press against his throbbing palms. Not only did it help with the pain, just for a second, but he had not held someone's hands in—well, technically he had never done it before. And if you were going by recent statistics, he hadn't actually been physically _touched_ since four days ago, when Caitlin had held his shoulder for a moment after she'd survived Nimbus' attack. Her hands were freezing, yes, and on the surface that soothed whatever was going on with his, but deeper in, he was feeling a pulse of heat from being held at all.

Killer Frost palms. But he could swear Caitlin's touch—now, and on the night she'd thanked him for saving her life—had pushed a long-forgotten warmth through his entire body. He _remembered_ that feeling, it was jarring. When he'd been Barry Allen, once upon a time, everyone touched him. Joe's arm around his shoulders, Iris' kiss on his cheek, Cisco's fist bumps, Wally's hugs. Caitlin's hand on his shoulder, or his arm, or his back. But he hadn't been Barry Allen in _centuries_ , and Caitlin tugging on his sleeve and resting her cold palm on his shoulder had sent him so many memories that night, so much heat, he thought he'd be the one struggling to breathe on that gurney next.

"Savitar, what is it?" Caitlin, voice tight, ripped her hands away, startled by his silence, his lack of explanation.

The stinging flooded back in, all at once, worse than before as her cold retracted. So he wasn't interested in explanations until the stinging subsided.

"Don't—" He grabbed at least one of her hands once more, using his speed, accidentally sending a little spark of Speed Force lightning up her wrist. She didn't let him have the other one, preoccupying it with a beaker on the table beside them.

Caitlin tugged the hand he held up to her eyeline, turning both their arms over so that she could get a glimpse of his palms. "It _was_ the suit," she realized, glancing up at him. He saw she was wearing goggles, a mask to protect her face while dealing with chemicals. Had she been wearing it when he came in? A few of her bangs were caught inside.

She got out of his grip again and turned her full attention to the table, babbling. "I noticed something off about your suit on the scanners, after you stopped Lisa Snart? There was an unknown, potentially acidic substance on your gloves—"

"Caitlin—" Savitar came right up behind her, needing her hands to stop the stinging, but she wasn't turning around and she wasn't offering them. The blisters had covered his wrists by now.

"—and it's sunk into your skin, see how your hands are dry? That's why it hasn't affected me after you touched me. Right before you got back, I ran a few names through a filter and I was right. I recognized some of the components, but it's really a custom cocktail: completely made up, something specific. That was why she was wearing those gloves. They were made from a certain kind of material; I'll bet it's resistant."

"Caitlin, give—"

"I think Lisa coated her weapons with this substance to keep thieves from stealing them." Caitlin was mixing something now, using both hands very inconsiderately. "Trust a crook to think like a crook, right? I thought if I—"

He snatched her right hand as soon as it set a test tube down, and she turned finally, frustrated.

"Savitar, I am trying to _fix_ the problem!"

"Me too." Savitar held their hands up together, waving them in her face. "So hold still."

"I need both hands to mix an antidote," She said, slowly, as if she were speaking to a child.

Savitar glared down at her. He could see his reflection in her goggles, an expression of scorn plastered onto his face. "I'm not holding your hands because I _want_ to, I'm holding your hands because they're _cold_ , and I need that cold to sterilize the effects."

"I know that."

"So hold still."

Caitlin rolled her eyes so far back, so quickly, it seemed possible they might roll right out of her skull. "Look, if I don't mix the antidote _with both hands_ , you're going to be going on missions for the rest of your life with extra baggage from now on." She pointed, underhand, to their attached limbs. "Me."

Savitar leaned his head back. "What do you want me to do like this until you're done?"

"Just—ride it out!" Caitlin huffed, wrenching away from him and going back to her chemicals. "You're supposed to be a god. I'm sorry, I thought those were made of tougher stuff."

Savitar scoffed and shook his head, hopping up to sit on the table beside the space she was working at. He held his hands out gingerly, turning them over. All he could do was watch the red climb his forearms, pulling his jacket sleeves up with a grimace to examine the damage.

Caitlin worked steadily for the next ten minutes, mixing, heating, pouring. Meanwhile, Savitar was ready to bet money that his hands were going to simply melt off of his arms. The stinging was _nauseating_. When she was nearly finished, she pulled the goggles down so they were hanging around her neck, and Savitar thought they looked a little big for her now that she wasn't wearing them.

Caitlin brandished a long needle, ready to inject the antidote into his system. "Now, I'm not sure this is exactly the right mixture, but I made sure the only side effect could be things like dizziness, or high levels of stress—"

"Oh no, not _stress_ ," Savitar hissed under his breath, turning his boiling hands over.

"—but basically it should work."

She paused to glance at him, to see if he was ready for the injection. Savitar looked back at her, eyes screwed up due to the pain. The needle glinted in the artificial light, long and intimidating.

Caitlin reached over and took his right hand; it was the left arm that would receive the needle first. Cold and warmth shot up and down his whole body and the stinging left that particular side. "Don't worry, I'll do it so fast you won't feel a thing."

"I'm not worried," he mumbled, watching her.

She offered a little smile at that, tentative, and stabbed his arm.

Slowly, the red started to fade, creeping back down to his wrists and out to the tips of his fingers. The blisters remained, but the stinging, in tune with his heartbeat, began to subside. At a snail's pace, unfortunately, but at least it was clearly leaving.

"How do you feel?" Caitlin demanded, though she had seen the results herself. "Dizzy?"

Savitar felt her hand tighten in his. It transported him back to Earth-1, back home, back when he was Barry. _Barry and Caitlin, at it again._ It had been forever. "Yeah," he croaked, watching the last of the red leave his left hand.

Caitlin, all-business, moved on to the other one, letting go of it. "It should go away soon I told you, it's just a side effect." She refilled the phial the needle was attached to, holding it aloft. "Ready?" She raised her eyebrows.

Savitar nodded, felt the warring heat and ice her hand had left in his drop away as she let go. "Do it," he muttered, ready to get out of this room.

When both hands seemed to be going pale again, returning to normal, he flexed his fingers, sliding off of the table into a standing position. Caitlin watched him, ever the physician, tracking his every movement.

"We'll have to be on the lookout for things like that next time," she sighed. "Or have Cisco build you a whole new suit." She took hold of one of his fingers, lifting his hand up. "Let me see..."

Savitar closed his eyes briefly, almost annoyed. "Caitlin, the pain's gone. It's fixed."

"I need to make sure the blisters are cleared, the blood vessels are the right color..." She must have continued the list in her head; she trailed off, squinting at his palm.

"Are you planning on reading my fortune?" Savitar droned.

Caitlin shook her head, ignoring his sarcasm. "You are good to go." She dropped his hand, finally, and he was free. Savitar shuffled to the doorway of the Cortex. He could feel her eyes on him as he moved. "Where are you going?"

Savitar didn't turn around. "Think I'm gonna go lie down." He slid his hands protectively into his pockets. "Still dizzy."

* * *

 **(Next chapter coming soon! PLEASE don't forget that I _love_ detailed reviews. I want all your thoughts. ALL of them. -Doverstar)**


	19. Chapter 19: Home Again, Home Again

A speedster should not be affected by allergies.

Because of his superhuman immune system, Savitar never expected to fall prey to what half the population succumbed to around this brisk time of year—the sniffles. But he felt his head getting stuffy that morning as he ran, on his way back to S.T.A.R. Labs after another manhunt for Rory or Nimbus with zero results. He'd stopped to thwart a few guys who had been harassing a young mother outside a supermarket, but other than that the day had been dull. He was tired of dull days. He was tired of the same routine—he wanted something to get started. Becoming a god had been such a tantalizing goal at one point; everything after that seemed a little lackluster.

It was hard to hide this embarrassing crack in his metahuman armor when he sneezed, without warning, loudly into his comms, passing Jitters and pulling some leaves off the trees through turbulence.

"Bless you," Caitlin commented, sounding a little far away from the mic. She was probably in the middle of some kind of tidying up in the still run-down Earth-66 Cortex and had heard it from across the room. Great.

Savitar ignored this and said, as if the sneeze hadn't happened, "What else you got?"

"...Nothing, according to what the scanners are picking up," Caitlin admitted after a moment. "Or—not picking up. Did you have any luck finding clues as to where Nimbus and Rory are hiding out?"

"If I did, they'd be in the Pipeline by now," Savitar grunted, breezing past the gate and onto the Labs' property.

"What if it's some kind of faux gang?"

"What?" he sighed, in the corridors now after racing through his room and donning his civilian clothes.

"They're all stirring up trouble. Lisa acted like they were one big group, following the same orders. You know, like a crime gang. She mentioned Rory _and_ Nimbus, and from what she said it sounds like they all know you. Two out of the three have actually been in our facility. I'm starting to think we need to beef up security, just to be safe."

He sneezed again, coming to a stop behind her in the Cortex.

Caitlin turned around, spitting hair from her face in his wake. She was indeed tidying up; there was a rag and a bottle of cleaner in her hands. "Bless you."

"Stop." Savitar ordered, blinking a few times.

"I have some Claritin in the med bay," Caitlin offered, wiping down the glass demonstration board.

"I don't get sick," Savitar informed her, pulling on his jacket.

"Barry got a head cold a few weeks ago," she countered, glancing sharply at him over her shoulder. "If he's not immune, neither are you."

Savitar felt a familiar twist in his chest at the comparison. He crossed his arms. "If they're taking orders from someone, that's who I need to be looking for," he growled, back on topic. "Not the lackeys."

"No, you _need_ to find the metahumans who know where you live first," Caitlin argued. "They could launch an attack here at any moment, and we can't take that chance. You can't stop anyone if they pull your base down around you. If you're _not_ sick, " she used her fingers to make quotations in the air, "you should be out there trying to catch them."

Savitar shook his head. "I've looked everywhere in this city ten times over. I want a break."

Caitlin set the glass cleaner down harder than she needed to on the white winding desk. "Fine. And while you're taking a break, I guess I'll call Cisco and figure out how to put this version of S.T.A.R. Labs on lockdown. Maybe then I can keep history from repeating itself—alone."

The speedster stiffened, head tilted back, making an exaggerated _ahh_ of surprise in one breath. "That's why you want me to go after them." His voice became quiet; he pointed at her, eyelids lowered. "You're afraid the Mist is gonna come back and finish the job."

She threw the rag next to the bottle of cleaner, glowering at him. "Of course I am! I can still _taste_ the gas, Savitar. I'm not invincible. I get scared, and—if he and Rory _both_ have the freedom to just waltz in here—"

"I said I was gonna find them," Savitar spoke over her, narrowing his eyes. "Didn't I promise?"

Caitlin looked apologetic, just for a moment, and stammered a bit before finally saying, "Yes. I know. But so far..."

He sneered at her as she launched into some kind of detailed explanation, to do with getting sidetracked and not having enough resources. She wasn't listening and clearly she wasn't trusting him to keep his word. Didn't she know that searching for the two goons was all he did when he wasn't out playing hero? Barry's face and she still couldn't quite look at him as if he were solid yet. Saved her from death by suffocation and all she was doing was bossing him. _Again_. He'd said she was safe at S.T.A.R. Labs, and she was. Hadn't he proved it? But it was the same problem as always. A suit and a chat on a gurney was nothing, it wouldn't make her see him.

"You want me to go back out and look again? Sure. Maybe they're hunkered down under the counter at Jitters." He drew his arms in, mimicking a _hunkered down_ position. Straightening, he snapped his fingers, walking backward toward the exit. "Or hey, I forgot to check the bathrooms at the police station, bet you _that's_ where they're hiding."

Caitlin's arms swung slightly, loose at her sides. She tilted her head, exasperated. "The satire is getting _really_ old," she said quietly.

He cut the act, spreading his arms. "I told you I was gonna keep you safe." He raised his eyebrows, halting, encompassing his face with a pointing finger. "But I guess we both forgot who you were talking to."

"That is _not—_ "

But he'd already left the room, kicking up papers in his wake, the rag tumbling to the floor.

Savitar ran through the city until it was dark, checking and rechecking all the shady, obscure places he could think of that might be hiding two metas. He'd switched off his comms—he didn't need Caitlin in his ear right now. She had a tracker on his suit, he knew, but it was satisfying to think that even if she could see where he was, she wouldn't be able to prattle on and on while he went. It was easy to let everything blur away when he was running. It wasn't like running in the Speed Force, where everything was trained on him and turned against him. Out here, he was moving too quickly for people to bother him, too quickly to take in any real details if he didn't want to.

But running didn't pull him out of his own head. It was like being in the shower—you had so much time to think, uninterrupted, that your mind went all-out in several different directions at once.

She stayed with him while he slept. She patched him up when he received injuries. She directed him on missions. Caitlin Snow did _everything_ for him that she did for his counterpart—for Barry. Everything but trust him.

 _WHOOSH._ He was in, up, down, through, and out of the CCPD. No metas.

He hadn't wanted her trust. He hadn't wanted her help or her time or her efforts, but she gave them anyway. More often than not, he felt he still that way. He didn't _need_ any of it. But once he had it, it was surprisingly difficult to imagine going back to doing things solo. It had only been about a month, give or take a few extra days, of living on Earth-66 with the flustered bio-engineer, but already he was adapting to it, becoming used to it. Used to her voice on the comms, used to seeing her when he passed the Cortex, used to smelling her mild perfume in the corridors.

Now, slowly gaining everything Barry had once had in a friendship with Caitlin for himself, Savitar was acutely aware of the element that was missing—he could _feel_ the lack of trust. Her fears today proved it.

While she had been unconscious from the poison gas, he had taken a look at the video footage from the Pipeline. She had reached for her comms when Nimbus had approached, he noticed—she had been trying to signal _him_ , but in a pathetic, albeit rare moment of humanity, she had left them in the Cortex and forgotten them. That was what she expected. She expected him to rescue her. Didn't that show trust?

He couldn't tell anymore. And it irritated him that it suddenly mattered, whether or not she viewed him with that credence, that faith. She trusted the Flash with her life. Why was it such a far jump to trust Savitar?

The warehouses on the edges of downtown were empty. Completely empty, save a few cockroaches, crates, and broken umbrellas. Back into the city.

Suddenly he wanted coffee. His head hurt, he felt cold. A hot, steaming drink sounded pretty satisfying. But he couldn't very well step right into Jitters the way he used to. Not with the scars caking one side of his face. It wasn't as though disfigured people weren't accepted into society—but he was more than just disfigured, and that wasn't self-pity talking. He was frightening to look at, he was scary. At first he'd relished it. It matched him, those scars, it matched what he'd become. It overlapped anything that might still look like sweet little Barry Allen, replacing that countenance with something more sinister, with the dripping anger he felt day in and day out.

But now that he was supposed to be different—now that he was trying to turn things over, make them better for himself, the scars were starting to actually hurt in a way they hadn't hurt before. Not physical pain, obviously. He didn't want them there, not anymore. He couldn't start a new life if he couldn't even walk down the street without someone staring, then looking away in poorly-disguised horror. They still matched him—sort of—but he was beginning to resent the matching. This was a new feeling, and he wasn't sure he appreciated it.

A car alarm in the mall parking lot. The thief was tied with a bike lock to the handle of the SUV in seconds, blinking around in confusion. Savitar raced out of the lot and took a left down the nearest street.

And Caitlin, why did Caitlin's opinion, her trust, matter so much to him now? Why did he even _care_? Caring was nothing but a waste in his experience. It never ended well. He couldn't remember—in _his_ existence, not Barry's—when he had last cared about someone, something, in a way that was positive. In a way that produced something fruitful.

The last time he had cared about anything _deeply_ was when Team Flash had turned their backs on him. The care had eaten him alive, turning him into the shard he was now. Only a negative repercussion.

After that...nothing.

He had, in a way, cared about becoming a god—but not the same kind of care, never as strong as the one that had to do with people. Becoming a god was about stopping the constant, plucking spasms of pain and emptiness that gnawed and ripped at him. But he hadn't reached his goal, so that care, too, had been wasted.

Caring about his family and friends abandoning him—that was focusing on himself and his own heartache and the unfair blow life had dealt him.

Caring about becoming a god—that was a desperation to end his own suffering. Still all him.

Caring about Caitlin, her opinion, her feelings, _her_ —that was blindingly different.

He wasn't sure where he was now. There was a clothing store open to his right, a man eating french fries beside a stoplight up ahead. Still in Central City, a billboard above told him. He'd been running for hours.

For human beings, there are really just two ways to care. One was that you turned your attention and your heart and your considerations on a thing or person, and you attached it there in a way that could not be undone without some irreversible change happening in you after it was all over. The other was that you protected, defended, looked after that thing or person with the utmost devotion, and the result was that you never actually stopped caring from that moment forward, whether the feeling was negative or positive in the end.

Savitar had cared about himself—his suffering and his loneliness, and then his plan to become a god—using the first definition of the word. But the way he was beginning to care about Caitlin Snow was undoubtedly the second definition, and, putting it simply for once, it bothered him.

Ultimately, to care was to connect with importance. There was a selfish way to do this and a self _less_ way to to this. Caring is never, ever easy. Once you cared, things got hard.

Savitar cared what she thought of him, how she saw him. Suddenly he cared whether she lived or died, a certain meta had made that clear to him. He cared what she liked and disliked, he cared about her expressions and her comfort and her _trust_. He'd both locked his attention on her, and—recently—had begun to look after her.

None of it was too much deeper than a kiddie pool just yet, but if today's spat was anything to go by, he might end up drowning.

The fact that it mattered to him at all was unexpected. Nothing had mattered for a very long time, nothing but him and his plans and his pain. Until now.

So: why _did_ he even care?

Because Caitlin was the only one who had volunteered to help him further than just tossing him into the nearest Barry-less Earth? Because she was useful? Because he owed her for all the stitches and bandages? Because her eyes were brown and she scrunched her nose when she was confused? Because she cared about _him_ first?

Whatever the reason, one thing was inescapable—caring is a _choice_. You have to first _choose_ to care about anything.

Savitar had chosen to care about Caitlin, somewhere along the way. Even if it was small to start out with. And he got the feeling that trying to turn it off would only get more difficult as time went on.

This was pointless. It was nearly 8 PM, and no sign of the pyro or the undead convict. He would go back to S.T.A.R. Labs to try and sleep and continue the search tomorrow. Caitlin could rest easy, knowing he was wearing out the material in his suit's boots scanning the city.

When he stopped in the corridors, giving his legs a break to walk the next few yards to his room, Savitar heard an eerie _wshhhh_ , a kind of vacuuming sound coming from around the corner.

 _Caitlin's room._

He used his speed; it was helpful that her door was wide open, so he didn't have to break anything getting in. Everything was organized, from the clothes folded on the cot to the pens all facing up in the coffee mug on the single metal table in the corner. It was a copy of his room, only neater, fuller.

And there was also the added difference of a tear in the cloth of the universe swirling in the corner.

Savitar's tensed body, ready for some kind of enemy, sagged and relaxed. His arms swung limply at his sides and he dropped his head back, side-eyeing the breach as if it were the cat that had knocked over the broom and forced him to come running.

It drained in on itself a moment after he came into the room, disappearing altogether. Savitar looked at the fully made bed, the lack of the duffel bag Caitlin had dragged here with her.

 _I guess Ramon finished his little project_. She was gone. Savitar stood there a moment longer, perplexed to find that he could _feel_ the difference in the building without her. Something was darker, the shadows looked deeper. She didn't warn him she'd been called away. She didn't say when she'd be back. Right. He'd switched off the comms. Fair was fair.

Savitar exhaled through his nose, not really a sigh. He didn't need a goodbye. And nothing was exciting about loitering in a bedroom that wasn't his. He turned and left, stifling a sneeze that wouldn't have gotten a _bless you_ even if he had let it go.

* * *

Stepping through a breach was cold and it made you nauseous. Your body was moving, just for a moment, into a space that was essentially nothing. No air, no sound, no smells or colors, just blinding white and a sucking feeling in your gut.

Then it was over, and you were back in an actual atmosphere, but the feeling wasn't something you ever got used to.

Cisco had called Caitlin just as the sun was setting on Earth-66. "It took me like five days, but it's finally done. Bad timing?"

Caitlin had hesitated. She never did anything without thinking it over. There was no reason she shouldn't go and retrieve the devices they needed, and she was longing to see her family. That, and the fact that Savitar had blatantly discredited her fears and accused her of having shallow judgement in one _breath_ made for a compelling argument to go ahead and leave for a bit. _She_ was the one who needed a break.

"No, Cisco, today is perfect. Thank you."

She could practically hear him pumping a fist in excitement over the walkie-talkie. "Sweet, yes! Yes. Okay, I'll fire up the Gauntlets. One sec."

Savitar still hadn't come back from his mopey mission when nighttime had officially arrived and Caitlin was fully packed. He'd switched off his comms, which did nothing to improve her mood regarding him at the moment, so she couldn't actually inform him that she was leaving until he returned. Another twenty minutes passed, and no sign of the former God of Speed. The breach appeared in one corner of her room, just as she had requested, and with a final glance around, a cocking of the head in case she heard a _whoosh_ of entry from the speedster, she'd stepped out of Earth-66.

Caitlin smelled Earth-1's S.T.A.R. Labs basement before her eyes adjusted to the light. It smelled a little musty, almost _too_ clean, like a hotel lobby. She felt the temperature move from the 75 degrees her Earth-66 room had been to the 40 degrees the breach room was kept at. She heard Cisco closing the portal and the click of his Gauntlets as he lowered his hand. She also heard him shout breathlessly, "Guys, she's back!" and then there were many footsteps getting louder, coming her way.

But she wasn't home until someone hugged her. It could have been any of them embracing her to make her feel secure and content, but this one was distinct because of the incredible bone-crushing tightness that came with it. There was a flash of yellow-gold light and she was finding it very difficult to breathe.

"Barry—" Caitlin coughed out, "—I-I think you just fractured one of my—ribs—"

The Flash's grip relaxed just a little, but he didn't let go. "Hi, Cait." His voice was dipped downward and strained.

Caitlin sucked in precious air, hugging him back, then pulling out of it so that she could see his face. It was like the past month had been a dream of some kind, and looking at him woke her up. No scars, no blue eye, lighter hair, zero scowl. Eyes full of heat and hope and kindness. Big, closed smile that filled his entire body.

"Hi," she replied, beaming.

Barry was nudged playfully out of her line of sight and Cisco took his place, chiding, "All right, all right, save some love for the rest of us, thank you. Move."

Cisco's grip was warmer than Barry's, much looser, probably because he was tired as usual from opening a breach. "Missed you," he said quietly, and she could hear his grin over her shoulder.

Caitlin sighed, finally at ease. She'd been craving a Cisco hug. "Have I ever told you how much I love your inhuman ability to open holes in the fabric of the multiverse?"

"Not enough, please continue."

Joe's _hey_ was long and riding on a chuckle, and Wally smelled like a fresh shower when he put both arms around her. Iris was dressed a little more casually today than usual—hence she wasn't wearing heels—and she rubbed Caitlin's back in her hug, up and down, comforting as ever.

Caitlin only had to glance at Barry to thank him for hoisting up the duffel bag she'd let go of when the greetings had begun. "You have no idea how good it is to see all of you," she breathed, smoothing the wrinkles from her top by pulling the hem down farther.

"It's great to have you home," Barry replied, speaking for all of them as was the norm, and they all wore matching smiles at that.

They took their time leading her back to the Cortex, the Cortex she was used to, the one that was well-lit and mostly tidy, filling her in on anything important that had happened while she was gone.

They had stopped a new meta Cisco referred to as the Wooden Man, and Caitlin politely declined a trip to the Pipeline to get a look at him. Apart from that, Wally assured her, it had been pretty quiet without Savitar to terrorize them all. He had missed one or two classes because of his moonlighting as Kid Flash, which Joe had already lectured him over, as Caitlin learned while walking with the group through the corridors. Barry had, obviously, recovered from his head cold a while ago, but he told Caitlin that the Benadryl actually slowed him down about three paces when speeding through the city, due to the side effects of drowsiness despite his superhuman system. Cisco had heard from Gypsy three days ago, something about traveling to an Arctic universe in search of a rogue drug dealer from Earth-19, and unfortunately she couldn't find time to visit Earth-1 on this little escapade, much to Cisco's disappointment. Iris and Barry hadn't had time to find a venue for their reception, and Iris wanted Caitlin's opinion on a cake flavor—because any time she asked Barry, he was too hungry due to his unusual metabolism and liked every suggestion she made, so he was no help. Joe had taken Cecile on their first ritzy date that weekend and was already planning the next one, though he swore his bank account was wailing at him for it.

All in all, life had been running on their same normal-not-normal treadmill for the past month, minus one member of the team or no.

An hour later, Caitlin was seated _on_ the winding white desk—not in her chair behind it, a testament to how much more comfortable she was here—and everyone was talking at once, cutting in on one another's stories, asking her questions, making her laugh, when Joe waved both arms, silencing everyone.

"I got an idea," Joe announced, leaving one hand raised. "How's about we go get some pizza?"

Barry took one half-step toward the exit, but Joe slapped an arm to his chest, barring his path.

"Let's actually _go_ and _get_ some pizza," Joe explained, raising his eyebrows. "Everybody."

"As in, like..." Barry exchanged an affronted look with Wally. "Carpool?" Wally winced sympathetically, as if someone had just insulted his older brother in front of him.

"Yeah, carpool." Joe tilted his head in an admonishing fashion that told them not to question their elder. "Eatin' at a restaurant? You know, somewhere you go and you sit in a real chair and a tired waitress takes your order and there's a table somewhere in there? 'Member that?"

"What exactly are you suggesting, Detective?" Cisco demanded in a warning tone.

"Famulari's." West jabbed a thumb backward, to indicate the pizzeria downtown.

Cisco brought steepled hands up to his mouth, gasping exaggeratedly. "Adopt me."

Joe gave him a look that said _get in line_.

Iris glanced at Doctor Snow jovially. "Yeah, what do you say, Caitlin? Are you hungry?"

Caitlin's cheeks hurt, she'd been smiling so much. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Shotgun," Barry called out, resigned. But Wally had said it at the same time.

The two speedsters sized one another up.

"Race you for it," Wally offered.

"You're on."

Restaurants become brighter by default when you have to pull two tables together. That's when you know you won't be doing much eating, that you'll have fun during dinner.

Famulari's had wooden walls that were painted grass-in-the-sunshine green and seats that were cream-colored. The tablecloths were black and white picnic patterns, rather than the cliched red and white. The dulled, scarlet tiled floors made up for that, though. The smell of mozzarella, fresh-baked bread, and warm, bubbling tomato sauce hung moist in the air as the group walked in, and while Joe and Barry moved the tables together, Wally and Cisco made a beeline for the buffet.

Iris sat across from Caitlin as they each took their seats, meandering from the buffet to the table and back periodically. "So—how's life on the... _other_ side of the tracks?" she asked.

Caitlin's eyes widened briefly to allude to stress. "It's...been better." She screwed up her face, thinking about that for a second. Then she backtracked, "Actually, I think right now _is_ better. Better than it was when we got there, I mean."

Iris placed her napkin in her lap. "What do you mean?"

"Savitar—he can be tricky to get along with," Caitlin began.

Cisco sat down beside her, plate piled with three different kinds of pizza. "I've heard that about crazy people," he said sympathetically.

"He isn't _crazy_ ," Caitlin objected.

Joe's eyebrows rose as he reached for the red pepper flakes. "You defending him now?"

Wally was using his speed to subtly keep Cisco from the parmesan cheese. He would let it sit long enough that Vibe would be lulled into a false sense of security, and just when Cisco's fingertips brushed the container, Wally suddenly had it, shaking the powdered cheddar glory slowly and innocently over his own supper.

But Kid Flash looked up at his father's question, distracted from this game, narrowing his eyes at Caitlin. "He broke my leg and tried to kill Iris."

"And become a god," Cisco added, eyes on the parmesan with the same grim look of determination he wore when he'd confronted Hartley Rathaway two years ago.

Iris waved her hands. "Let the woman talk, guys."

Caitlin dipped her head to Iris gratefully. "I'm not—not necessarily _excusing_ anything that happened. But he _is_ trying to start a new life, and I can also confirm that he doesn't show any signs of being clinically insane." She shot Cisco a pointed look. "He's just...stubborn, is all. He does things differently than Barry."

"Hmm?" Barry took his seat beside Iris, carrying more pizza than Cisco by about twelve slices. "I heard my name."

"Caitlin was just telling us about how things are going with Savitar," Iris explained, plucking a pepperoni off of one of his slices.

To Caitlin's interest and slight concern, Barry's face seemed to darken almost instantly. Some of the light whisked out of his gaze as he glanced at her, waiting.

"He's settling into being Central City's savior pretty well," Caitlin went on, clearing her throat. "I-I mean—aside from those times I have to keep him from beating someone to a bloody pulp..."

Barry's fingers tightened on the edge of his plate. Caitlin's eyes flicked to the movement subconsciously, but no one else was watching him; all eyes were on her. Whatever else you could say about her unorthodox group of friends, they were considerate listeners. Experts, really.

"And he doesn't quite have your..." Caitlin pursed her lips, looking for the right word. " _Charms_ as the Flash."

Barry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Charms?"

"You mean when he makes those lame quips at all the baddies he fights?" Wally asked.

Joe gestured with a point, swallowing a sip of lemonade. "Or how 'bout when he actually signed a piece of metal from that car crash and gave it to one of the kids involved?"

"Or that big cheesy smile he _always_ has when he comes back to the Cortex after he's done saving the day, like he's on some kind of 90's TV series?" Iris added.

Barry was looking between everyone as they spoke with an indignant expression. It turned to wounded at Iris' tone and he glowered at her.

Iris noticed and quickly submitted "No, no, it's _cute_! You're cute!" and Caitlin tried not to sputter into her drink.

Barry shook his head, just barely, at all of them, head sunk beneath his shoulders like a turtle. "Okay, I am not like that."

"Don't be modest, bro, you're adorable," Cisco admonished. He had finally snagged the parmesan cheese and was taking his own sweet time using it, eyes on Wally. Joe was silently chuckling at the end of the table, watching them.

"Right," Caitlin grinned, bringing it back on topic. "Savitar has none of it. It's hard to get him to really... _care_ , sometimes, I guess."

"About what?" Barry asked, voice low.

Caitlin glanced at him, replying a little reluctantly, "About anything." She almost said it as if it were a question. Barry's eyebrows knit, and Caitlin wanted to ask him what he thought, how he felt, only his fiancee spoke up before she could.

"But you said things were getting better," Iris reminded her, looking puzzled.

"They are," Snow assured her, sitting up a little straighter. "I mean, he saved my life, so that has to be a good sign, right? And—he could have gone after Rory, at the EXPO, but he didn't, he saved Wally. _That_ version of Wally," she clarified, glancing at a nodding youngest West. "He's trying. I've seen that."

"He can try all he wants. No hero's getting far without a team to back him up," Joe informed them between bites. "I don't care if he's a god or not."

"He's not," Barry muttered. His shoulders seemed tenser than they had been a moment ago.

"It's gonna be hard getting anybody to back him when he's got a face like something out of a Goosebumps cover," Cisco grunted, chewing. "I'm not playing, okay, he just literally _looks_ evil." He mimed with a clawed hand in the air around the left side of his own face. Wally was grinning at him.

Caitlin nodded to him quickly. "And that's one of the reasons I came here," she added. "Not that I didn't _really_ want to come home," she went on, offering them all a fond smile, "but not only do we need something to pacify the Mist's poison, we were hoping there was something here we could use to—"

"Fix his _condition_?" Cisco finished, making a face.

Caitlin lowered her eyelids. "Yes."

Cisco wiped his mouth with a napkin, waiting a moment before responding. He grew more serious, and his eyebrows came down low. "I can't... _erase_ the scars," he admitted. "Those aren't going away permanently, okay, that's some futuristic, time-loop crap I can't mess with. But I was thinking about it. After we played chess," he added, looking over at Caitlin. "And I drew up some plans—some stuff I was working on with H.R.'s transmogrifier thing. Y'know, the light refractor?"

Caitlin brightened. "What kind of plans?"

"They're in the car—" Cisco scooted his chair out, but Caitlin hopped up, energetic suddenly.

Science. Technology. Working in tandem with Cisco. This was her element. "I'll get it. I wanted to put my purse away anyway." Joe tossed her the keys, getting up to revisit the buffet. Wally joined him.

Caitlin made her way out to the parking lot. Something about the air out here—it even _smelled_ more familiar than Earth-66. Maybe she was biased, just convincing herself that every aspect of this dimension was better. But it was there, and she was content to drink it in as much as she could for now. She unlocked the car, rooting around through the backseat for Cisco's iPad, which was what he usually kept all his blueprints and random notes on.

When she got out, locking the van again and turning back toward the pizzeria, she was surprised to find someone watching her.

"Barry?" Caitlin cocked her head, nose scrunching up. "What are you doing?"

Barry was leaning against a pillar outside Famulari's, hands in his pockets. His green eyes were dull, telling her he was zoning out, lost in thought. He stood up straighter when she faced him, one set of fingers jumping to his hair. "I...was just—"

"I found it," Caitlin assured him. He'd wanted to help her look for the iPad. He was always helping.

Barry glanced down at the device in her hands, blinking. "Oh, good. Yeah."

"Come on. Let's see what Cisco's been tinkering with now."

Silent, Barry followed close behind her as she went back inside, rejoining their family at that long table.

* * *

Caitlin was on Cloud Nine, in a way, for the next two and a half days. Waking up in her own apartment, in her own bed, going to the _right_ Jitters in the morning, the Jitters she'd been wishing she would see every time she opened the door to the one on Earth-66. Researching the properties of the transmogrifier with Cisco, in _her_ S.T.A.R. Labs all day. Eating from the Big Belly Burger in the mall, not from one downtown somewhere the way it was on the 'other side of the tracks' as Iris had referred to it. Wearing the clothes she'd left on this Earth. Most of all, though, it was seeing the _faces_ she'd left behind that really made her giddy.

She must have laughed a little longer than usual at one of Cisco's ridiculous puns on the first afternoon, because he raised his eyebrows over his clipboard and said, "Dang, girl, you gonna be okay? What're they doing to you on that other Earth, making you watch _Titanic_ all day?"

How could she explain that she was just delighted to be home? She couldn't do the feeling justice.

Cisco had modified the transmogrifier in a way she would never have thought of. It was, of course, brilliant. "So it _used_ to project somebody else's face onto yours, right? Well, we don't want it to project somebody _else_. We just want it to make all the general nasty disappear. So I souped it up. Little did you know..." He began rolling up his shirt.

Caitlin held up a hand, wincing. "Cisco, no one needs to see your stomach unless it's an emergency."

He gave her an insulted look. "Little did you know that the sight of my stomach is a privilege, not a right, Caitlin, thank you for interrupting me," he finished hurriedly, scowling.

Caitlin shook her head hard. "Just. Please."

"Fine, little did you _actually_ know, I've got a few scars of my own. Check this out." Cisco brandished a long, thin white scar just beneath his belly button, and his glance told her she should be impressed, or at the very least sympathetic. She was neither.

"Where did you get that?" Caitlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Dante," Cisco seemed reluctant to explain, voice taking on a slightly hushed tone, the way it always did when he mentioned his late brother. "When I was like ten he pushed me out of a tree and I landed on a picket fence." When she gave him an inquisitive stare, he added, "We were trying to bust out of the backyard, parents were in a meeting. Not a good day, _anyway_..."

He held up the transmogrifier, shining it on the scar. It wafted away, as if someone had blown on it the way you blow on sand or eraser dust.

Caitlin's eyes bulged. "It's gone?"

Cisco held up a finger. "No. Not _gone_. It scans your skin, your cells, and it codes together what that part of your body would look like _originally_. Without any damage, just plain. Not even a tan." He paused. "Which could make this really fun at parties."

"So it's still there," Caitlin murmured, unsure if she was disappointed or not. If there was any disappointment, it would be for Savitar's sake.

"Well, yeah," Cisco admitted, looking a little miffed she was finding fault with his genius. "But it's like you're hiding it. I told you, I can't do anything to heal Savitar's jacked-up face. And _this_ is just a mini scar, from like twelve years ago." He flashed the transmogrifier back onto the spot, and the scar reappeared. "I can't promise it's gonna be strong enough to have the same affect on what he's got goin' on. But it's definitely gonna be better. Guaranteed."

Caitlin accepted his low high five and took the transmogrifier, examining it. "Thank you, Cisco. This is a big help."

"Don't thank me." He turned and went back to his worktable, flapping a hand at her good-naturedly. "I don't want my name on it or anything. I still don't think the guy deserves any of this."

"What about something to counteract the Mist?"

"Patience, young Padawan."

"You said it was finished!"

"Slow your role! Finishing touches are very important."

The banter in the engineering wing, the laughter in the Cortex, the early mornings at Jitters and the group text when she got home at night—Caitlin hadn't known how much she needed all of it until she'd left. The thought of returning to Earth-66 that evening was daunting to say the least. But she intended to enjoy it, to soak it all in, right until the last second. Being with the people she loved, somewhere fully familiar, was bliss, and she wasn't about to waste it.

There was one thing that was starting to trouble her, though, being back on Earth-1.

Barry.

Caitlin hadn't noticed it right away, but gradually, by the time her second morning back was half over, she had begun to suspect something was off with Barry. His behavior had transformed from helpful best friend to that of a very loyal collie. On missions, if he needed them to direct him, he would ask specifically for Caitlin to take over his comms, leaving Cisco Kid Flash's. Even when he _didn't_ need directions, he would ask her questions about his surroundings, about the criminal, questions that were easily answered if he'd just use his eyes. It was like he was checking to make sure she was still in the Cortex with everyone else.

He walked her—or rather, _ran_ her back to her apartment the first night, which wasn't too out of the ordinary. But when she went to close her bedroom curtains, after getting into her pajamas and brushing her teeth and generally preparing for bed, she had looked down and seen him there, in the street. Sitting on her front step on his phone. She'd turned her bedroom light back on and had gone to the front door, but upon opening it, she realized he'd left before she could come outside.

The next morning, he'd been the first to greet her when she came into S.T.A.R. Labs. Again, not too unusual for him, but then when she'd gone with Cisco to the engineering room to see the transmogrifier, and when she turned around, Barry was walking with them. She dismissed it as curiosity at first, but when Cisco had gone to get himself some lunch, Barry hadn't offered to run out and pick up the Chinese takeout for them. He'd stayed there in the room while Caitlin worked, drinking his coffee, asking a few questions. Not that she didn't love his company, but it wasn't normal for him, to be where he wasn't needed when he could be where he _was_. At the CCPD with Julian working a case, out as the Flash stopping crime. But he wasn't.

It was like that for the duration of her stay. She and Cisco would be working, and Barry would join them at random, until Joe or someone else would come looking for him. It was Caitlin telling him where to go when he was out in the field, while Cisco sat fully available beside her, albeit content to eat a few fries and just watch and listen for once. He offered to walk with her to Jitters all three mornings she was there— _walk_ , not flash. And even on the days when he'd already had his coffee, he'd stay until she was finished there and take her back to S.T.A.R. Labs when she left.

Finally, when she was headed to the med bay to stock up on supplies for Earth-66—and a few of her favorite tools she hadn't expected to need—it was too much. She had enjoyed Barry's talk of Wally's recovery from Savitar's attack, nodding and reacting in the corridors, but once they actually reached the med bay and he stood back, leaning against the wall and watching her, Caitlin decided enough was enough. Maybe Savitar had rubbed off on her, because she spoke right over the tail of a story he was telling.

"...Joe was _so_ mad, he thought Iris—"

"Barry, what are you doing?"

Barry's tale shuddered to a halt and he squinted at her, confused. "What—what do you mean, I'm..."

"You've been acting...different." Caitlin stood up, brushing the hair from her face.

"Different?"

"Mm hm."

"Different like how?"

"Like this." Caitlin glanced widely around the room, focusing back on him with arched eyebrows. "This, you. In the med bay. Aren't you supposed to be meeting Iris for lunch? But you're here. Or what about yesterday, in Cisco's workshop? Or last night, outside my apartment?"

Barry's head came up quickly at that.

"I saw you." Caitlin gave him a small, worried smile. "You don't need to be everywhere I go, but—and you can tell me, please, if I'm wrong—it feels a little like...you're _following_ me."

Barry was nodding before she'd finished. When she had, he let out a short sigh from his noise, arms crossed over his dark red sweatshirt. "I guess I have been."

Caitlin blinked, unprepared for his agreement. "Why?"

Barry stood up straight, coming off the wall. "I just—I just feel...responsible."

Caitlin's shoulders sagged. She knew immediately what he was talking about. _Of course._ He always wanted to help. And he couldn't stand the thought that he—or any version of him—hadn't been there in time.

"Barry, you're not responsible for what happened with Kyle Nimbus."

He snorted, disregarding that. "But I was."

"No—"

"Yes, Cait, I'm responsible, I'm responsible for Savitar because he's _me_." Barry closed his eyes. "You could've died—"

"Listen, we have been through this—"

"You could've died and I wasn't there!" Barry raised his voice, talking over her, and it would've felt like Earth-66 if he hadn't sounded so upset. Savitar didn't usually use that much emotion in anything he said or did. As a result, Caitlin fell silent, letting him speak. "But _he_ was. He could've done something to help you and he was late."

"Barry, he _did_ do something to help me!" Caitlin burst out. She couldn't understand why everyone had disregarded Savitar's response to the situation. Were they so used to looking at him as a murderer that the thought of him saving a life instead was too much of a leap?

"By taking your necklace off?" Barry's voice got even more desperate to be understood. "You could've become Killer Frost. How is that better?"

She couldn't argue, of course, that becoming Killer Frost was the choice she'd make over death. She knew she would take death any day. But he wasn't hearing her.

"I didn't," she argued. "I'm still here. I'm me. And I'm only alive because Savitar— _your_ time remnant—found me and brought me back. Saying that you are responsible for Savitar is taking credit for saving my life, Barry. Not for putting me in danger."

Barry's thumb traced patterns in the cables of his sweater as he kept his arms folded. He watched her as she spoke, and she saw him relax, bit by bit, at her words. It felt so refreshing to have a Barry Allen actually listening to her, all the tension drained from Caitlin too.

"When Iris told me what happened," Barry began quietly, "I don't know, I—I couldn't stop thinking about what it would've been like if you'd died there. On that Earth. A whole world away from us. It's what I was trying to tell you before you left, Cait, if—" He took a deep breath. "If something bad goes down over there and I can't do anything about it, I can't _know_ that _he_ will." His eyebrows bounced. "I can't. And it scares me."

After a moment of silence, a slow smile crept unbidden across Caitlin's face as she asked, suddenly seeing his logic, "So...you following me around like a puppy is going to keep that from happening?"

"Okay—" Barry started grinning then, too, looking away from her in an attempt to remain serious but failing in the end.

"Are you going to follow me to the other Earth, too?" Caitlin went on, encouraged, wanting to extract even more of his anxieties using his smile.

That smile stayed, but his tone _was_ serious again as he said, "If that's what it takes, yeah. I want you to be safe, Cait."

Caitlin's expression matched his, so fond of her own personal superhero. She gave him a warm hug. "I missed you, Barry."

He hugged her back, breathing in slowly. "When are you coming home? For good."

"As soon as I know he's not alone without me," Caitlin told him, pulling away. "I can't leave if he's on his own. We've seen what you're like when you don't have people who care about you."

Barry's tense shoulders made a return then, and he cut in, "What's he been like?" nodding upward, once, to her. "For real. How's he treating you? How's he treating everybody?"

"Some days..." Caitlin bit her lip, thinking. She could never explain all of it. So she settled for, "Some days are better than others."

Barry sighed, turning toward the door, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know I said I wanted to get him some help, but not like this." He shook his head. "It's hard, seeing what you could be. Seeing the...the darker side of you. Hearing how different he is."

"Believe me," Caitlin grunted, ignoring the suddenly obvious glare from her snowflake pendant. "I know."

"Yeah. But you'll teach him how to fight it, Cait, I know you." Barry turned to offer her a reassuring smile this time. "Good thing we've both got someone who understands, huh?"

Caitlin forced a smile back. "Good thing," she murmured.

When it was time to leave, Caitlin had that same sense of dread she'd had when she was about to step through the breach for the first time, a month ago. She didn't want to do it. She wanted to stay, she never wanted to see another portal for as long as she lived. But she knew this was the right thing to do—and Caitlin Snow never did a job halfway.

After most of the hugs and the goodbyes had passed, and she stood with her back to the breach, duffel bag over one shoulder, Caitlin looked around. "Where's Cisco?"

"Right here!" Cisco hurried into the breach room, wearing what looked like a bronze backpack. "I had a few last-minute adjustments to make, but it's ready."

"What's ready?" Wally demanded.

Cisco reached backward and opened a small hatch in the backpack. He pulled out a long tube, a different kind of metal than the rest of the device. The end was coiled with some kind of blue padding, the same used in the Pipeline.

"This baby is a titanium-lined, power-dampening, Mist-containing—"

"It looks like a vacuum," Iris interrupted.

Cisco blinked a few times, clearly highly offended by this intrusion. "Chill, Iris, okay? You make the gadget, you make the presentation, whose is this?"

"It's yours," Iris sighed impatiently, obviously resisting an eye-roll.

"A+, yes, it is." Cisco scoffed. "Thank you."

Barry raised a hand sheepishly.

"My man."

The Flash squinted slightly, almost apologetic. " _Is_ it a vacuum?" Wally snickered.

"It's a lot more than that, my friends," Cisco replied dramatically, brandishing the tube. "With this, when Nimbus goes full-on gas mode, you'll be able to pull him in and keep him sealed up in a controlled container that keeps him from morphing again until you stick him in the Pipeline." He patted the backpack portion of the device. " _Before_ anybody goes breathing in the chemicals."

"Like anybody would be dumb enough to try that," Caitlin huffed, and Cisco smirked at her. "So, apart from the whole imprisonment part, it _is_ a vacuum?" she checked. Joe gave her a grateful glance for the clarification.

Cisco, resigned, dropped the tube, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if praying for strength. He admitted, "Okay, yeah, it's kind of a tricked-out vacuum." Then, delighted to redeem himself, he added, "It _sucks_."

"Nope." Iris threw up her hands.

"I'm goin' back to work." Joe turned and feigned an exit.

"Come back, come on, I _had_ to, it was right down center field!" Cisco whined, grinning.

Barry, laughing, turned to Caitlin to give her one last crushing hug. "You _have_ to call me if anything happens," he whispered while the others were berating Cisco. "If you...suck in poison gas, if you're attacked walking to your car, if you stub your toe _,_ I wanna be the first person you tell. Okay?"

Caitlin gave him a squeeze. "I promise. But Savitar's already proven he's looking out for me. You should at least try to trust him, Barry." She raised an eyebrow as they pulled apart. "Give him a chance. You know him best, right?"

"Yeah." Barry shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I mean it, though. If you don't call at least once a day, I _will_ follow you over there." He stood up taller, folding his arms stubbornly. "Like a puppy."

Caitlin grinned. "Agreed."

She pulled on Cisco's vacuum gadget. It was lighter than she thought it would be, and cold against her back. What a sight she'd be, coming back through to Earth-66 with this strapped to her body.

This time, she forced herself not to take a second look backward before she stepped through.


	20. Chapter 20: Worn Out

**(Author's Note: Probably can't update tomorrow, friends, as I'll be at work all day long, but I'll do my best to write more tonight. Enjoy this while you wait? Love you, Jell-O Squares. -Doverstar)**

* * *

When Caitlin arrived back on Earth-66, Cisco had accidentally opened the breach in the old parking lot out _side_ S.T.A.R. Labs, not in her room the way he had when she'd left. It was a slow walk inside with the odd vacuum attached to her back, but she was less concerned with this First World Problem than she was with the fact that Savitar was not right there when she came in. In a moment of nerves she wondered if he'd abandoned their cause because she'd left—then she decided he wouldn't care _quite_ that much. She still needed to look for him, though.

Caitlin deposited the vacuum in the engineering room. It seemed fitting to leave it on the worktable of this world's late Cisco Ramon, though she was careful not to set it down on the Kirk bobblehead. When that burden was lifted, she made her way to the Cortex first, expecting to see the speedster on one knee in a corner somewhere, fixing up another piece of equipment, something he did when he wasn't running. It was a long job, restoring the entirety of the building to its former glory. But he wasn't there.

Next she walked up and down the corridors, thinking she'd run into him there. No such luck. The Pipeline was Savitar-free as well, and though she was sick of rushing around the building at this point, Caitlin did like to think she was getting a good amount of exercise, doing this. S.T.A.R. Labs was an enormous facility.

He wasn't in the med bay.

He wasn't in the basement.

He wasn't in her room, either. Though she couldn't find any reason for him to be in any of these places, he was as unpredictable as his counterpart, so technically it was possible, if unlikely. There was also a small niggling portion of her brain told her that if she didn't check this _one_ area now, she'd go crazy thinking that was where he must be after deducing that everywhere _else_ was wrong, and have to hurry there later, only to discover this whole search could've been avoided if she'd been absolutely thorough. It was a lot like looking for a phone you'd misplaced, actually.

Her room was a short walk from his room, and it seemed foolish that this should be the last place she looked.

There he was, of course. Passed out completely on the cot, clothes on, not even donning the blankets. He was sleeping with his torso on the bed, but with his legs hanging off. Caitlin immediately stiffened, not wanting to wake him just yet. At least he was here.

Something caught her eye. She turned, examining the small metal table up against the wall. On it were several odd, electronic pieces that looked like tools. He must have brought them with him from Earth-1—either that, or the engineers who had once worked at this version of S.T.A.R. Labs had developed some brilliant new way of tinkering. There were a few recognizable items—nuts and bolts, for example, and one screwdriver. But apart from that, Caitlin couldn't make out what Savitar had been doing with these little pieces of metal and strange devices. He had built his own armor once—and Barry _was_ far more intelligent than he let on. This seemed to be another of Savitar's time-passing hobbies; she was loathe to reach over and touch anything lest it backfire on her.

Caitlin turned to leave the room, but it struck her how odd it was that Savitar made no noise in his sleep. He wasn't tossing and turning, he wasn't curled in on himself, he seemed to be barely breathing. But she could tell he was fine—his chest _did_ rise and fall. It just did so very slowly, the long way one breathes when they are very deeply asleep. _No nightmares?_ she wondered, slightly hopeful for him.

When he was unconscious, his face relaxed. That wasn't to say he looked peaceful—even his resting expression seemed painted with unhappiness. Barry smiled so often. He felt things at a ten, always. To see his face this way, not only wrapped in scars but echoing a certain kind of heartache, was sobering to Caitlin. She wanted to fix everything, including him, no matter how insufferable he could be. Savitar had been through things that had hurt him so much, it was permanently laid over him, even while he slept.

Suddenly, leaving for Earth-1 without waiting for him to reappear, telling him when she'd be back, seemed uncharacteristically thoughtless. How could she have dismissed him like that? Wasn't that treating him just as poorly as he treated everyone else? She'd told him they were friends. She'd told Barry she would try, she would try to make a life for him here.

Watching him sleep, seeing him without the sneers and the clipped words and the careless body language...Caitlin's heart softened. Barry was still somewhere in there. She had to help him, get him out of the misery and the shadows. Make him better. _Isn't that what doctors do?_

Then the fingers on his left hand twitched. Just for a moment. They vibrated, thumb first, then pinky, then the rest, all in a split second. Caitlin had seen his Earth-1 duplicate do the exact same thing, more than once, when he was asleep on the examination table after missions. It was one of those Barry Allen things, indicative to him. She almost smiled.

He'd be hungry when he woke up. She could definitely do something about _that_ , at least.

* * *

She only had enough cash on her at the moment to get a single meal from Big Belly Burger, and Savitar was _still_ sleeping when she came back. In the same position. She tilted her head, entering the room. She had expected him to be awake, or more likely gone. Running through the city somewhere. But no, he was still snoozing on his cot, oblivious to the world. Maybe that was a good thing for him.

Caitlin left the food on the metal table, with a last glance at all his tools. She couldn't see any finished—or even progressing—project, just the means to make one. The table was still covered in quite a bit of dust. It made sense that someone who spent so little time in the room wouldn't feel the need to tidy it up, but it bothered her—she had long ago admitted to being something of a neat freak. But it was his space, and she wasn't about to alter it. That was part of what might finally make this place seem like home to him: his own way of doing things.

 _His own way of doing things_. Maybe she was being a bit bossy. Well, bossi _er_.

He'd eat when he got up. Meanwhile, she'd go and unpack. Time to get back to work.

* * *

"I find it difficult to believe that a man who can change his molecular structure to that of a, a fluorescent green _cloud_ has not been caught on camera at least once in the past three years!"

Caitlin, eyes on the screen of her favorite computer in the Cortex, agreed distractedly, "It doesn't make sense, I know. You would think there was at least one crazy blog online, or a video..." She was scanning lists of different types of gas used to kill; it had been an hour since she'd returned from Big Belly Burger and had thought that after unpacking, the best use of her time would be to contact Stein and continue their research on Nimbus. "Professor, I'm not getting anything _close_ to the kind of gas I've seen him create."

Stein's voice in her bluetooth earpiece sounded tight, frustrated. "Yes, well, if _color_ is all we have to go on, we might as well _throw in the towel_ now, as the saying goes. We can't produce evidence against him if we can't even find him, Miss Snow, never mind deciphering his abilities and curing my wife."

Caitlin paused in her search, biting her lip. "We're gonna keep trying. You've been doing this alone for _three years_ , Professor, and you haven't given up yet. Now you have someone to help you. There's nowhere to go but up."

"Sound logic," Stein admitted, and she could hear the clicking of his laptop's keyboard in the background; he must be at his offices. "I only wish my emotions were more in tune with my mind."

"It takes practice," Caitlin told him, amused. "I'll let you know if I find anything new."

"And—what about your speedy friend?" Stein suddenly cut in, just as she was about to hang up. "Has he had any more luck than you or I?"

Caitlin pursed her lips. "I don't think so. He's looked, but..."

"I see." Martin sighed, very short, very quiet. "Well, if anyone can find him, I daresay it will be...Savitar." He always said the name in a sort of hushed way, a mix between reluctance and awe. Reluctance because he was not fully in favor of the title, though he had conceded it fit the speedster's abilities, and awe because—well, that was obvious.

"Let's hope so," Caitlin muttered under her breath. "I'll catch up with you later, Professor."

"Yes, yes—of course—good talking to you as usual, Miss Snow. Oh! Er—our usual rendezvous for caffeine and criminal investigation is still on for tomorrow, I presume?"

She grinned. "I'll be there."

Once Stein had hung up, Caitlin sat back in her chair, sighing hard enough to blow her hair out of her face. She felt she had been staring at one too many screens, solving one too many problems. She may not be speeding around the city or pulling heavy, frightened bodies from a burning building, but the mind could be drained just as much as the body. Savitar wasn't the only one able to wear himself down.

 _FWOOSH!_

An empty, wrinkled Big Belly Burger bag flew into her lap.

Caitlin's head shot up and she sat straight-backed, startled. "You're awake!"

Savitar's eyes held heavy bags beneath them, and his hair was slightly softer than usual, a little messy. There were corduroy lines on the backs of his hands from the bedsheets. He looked at her with half-closed eyes, the barest cloud of any emotion drifting over him.

When he didn't say anything, Caitlin nervously went on, "Cisco came through. He made something that can—"

"Is that your idea of an apology?" Savitar interrupted, sounding almost curious, voice low and tired. He nodded to the Big Belly Burger bag.

Caitlin looked down at it, blinking a few times. She glanced back up at him, taking a moment to form any words. "Sort of," she mumbled uncomfortably.

He simply nodded, mouth taut, watching her with the same squint Leonard Snart used on a daily basis. Something intelligent and interested, but not easily opened.

"I should have waited until you came back," Caitlin explained, turning her palms up.

Savitar snorted, head rearing. "Why?"

She felt her nose scrunching up. "Because—because it was wrong? To leave, I mean, without saying goodbye."

Savitar raised his eyebrows, eyes flicking to her nose and then to the ceiling, shrugging with his hands in his jacket pockets, so that the sides of it flapped out with his hands. "I don't need a goodbye, Doctor Snow." He said it as if she were being such a silly little girl, a waste of time, go play outside.

 _Doctor Snow_. Nope. No, they were _not_ going back to Square One. It hadn't quite been a big enough argument for that. But leaving without telling him— _that_ must be what he was acting off of. They argued every day since they'd come here. It was like the first year with Barry, learning one another, clashing, trying. Only worse, because this time one of them actually _relished_ the anger. She was learning Savitar too, analyzing, gathering data. The Barry that was rejected, the one trodden upon and cast into the Speed Force, alone for eternity and coming back to a group too afraid and furious to draw nearer than a Hammond Cuff. She was tentatively sure of what might work here and what might not, what might backfire there and what might send them forward. The only way to ensure a positive result was to carry out an experiment in confidence.

Caitlin set the empty bag on the white, winding desk and moved around it, approaching him, keeping eye contact. Savitar's gaze followed her every step, still narrowed and detached. Still curious.

Her fingers curled into her palms, arms swinging a little. "I mean it. I was being petty," she added with a soft chuckle, embarrassed, "and it won't happen again."

"Ohh," Savitar tilted his head back, scoffing very quietly. Then he leaned down. "Am I supposed to say, _thanks, Cait_?" His voice had dropped to a taunting near-whisper, and he made sure to drop out the usual deadpan. Sure to sound just like the original." _I forgive you, Cait. No worries._ "

Caitlin bit her lip, fighting to control the discomfort squirming in her gut at his spot-on imitation. "Something like that." He moved to turn to the side, sneering, so before she could think it over too much, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I know I can be a bit— _controlling_ ," she huffed, rolling her eyes, "And I should've trusted you. You saved my life. It's the least I can do."

Savitar's whole frame had swung still the moment she laid her hand on him, just as she'd predicted. Calculations accurate. Symptoms of someone touch-starved, not producing enough oxytocin. Human beings, speedster or no, were created to need physical touch on some level, and Savitar simply wasn't familiar enough with it.

To see any Barry Allen as someone who was very rarely touched was a phenomenon to Caitlin—Barry was the equivalent of a walking sweater sometimes. Everyone on the team gave him hugs, everyone gave him high fives, fist bumps, ruffled his hair, nudged him, swatted him upside the head. He was one of those people who clearly loved to be embraced and held, to remind himself he wasn't alone. It was probably a trait passed down to him by his father, come to think of it, who had once told Caitlin he would always accept a hug. Hereditary. Savitar had memories of every physical reassurance Barry had experienced, but had spent ages without any of it.

So it stood to reason that a simple touch would gain his attention, access the parts of his brain and emotions that he was blatantly ignoring during this conversation.

His eyes closed upon impact, but after a second slid open again. They shot down to her hand and then back to her face. An accurate diagnosis. "I said I'd keep you safe," Savitar murmured.

"I know. I believe you."

"No," he said, louder, shaking his head. He took one half-step backward; it was all he needed to remove her hand. He almost sounded exasperated, as if _he_ were trying to convince _her_. "No, you don't."

"I _do_ ," Caitlin insisted, fingers curling back in. "I'll prove it to you." She went back around to the keyboard, pressing a few keys, clicking a few times. A sound like the unplugging of a vacuum cleaner filled the building, just for a moment. She straightened triumphantly. "There. I just turned off the alarm Cisco helped me install before I left."

Savitar's mouth pursed, but it was very close to a smile. Not a pleased smile, more like an amused, unimpressed sort of smile.

"Not enough?" Caitlin went to the other keyboard, opening the building's system preferences and tapping the spacebar twice. "How about the security cameras?"

"Caitlin."

"I can unlock my bedroom door from here too, it's as simple as—"

Suddenly his hand was on hers, shoving it away from the keyboard. She looked up at him, surprised. "See," he murmured, clicking his tongue, cocking his head, squinting one eye."Now you're just being kinda stupid."

"No," Caitlin insisted, not moving away, encouraged, "but I _was_. I should know better than anyone that trust goes both ways. You trusted me enough to let me come here, you trusted me enough not to become Killer Frost, now it's my turn to trust you."

Savitar raised his eyebrows. The only sound in the room was the whirring of the computers.

After a moment, Caitlin said, watching his green eye, "Your line is, _Thanks, Cait_ ," in her best Barry Allen hush.

The tiniest of chortles escaped Savitar, out his nose, and he stood up straight, letting go of her hand. There was the quirk of a grin, Barry's not-going-to-laugh grin she loved so well, and he shook his head again, slower this time.

"Okay," he said, pushing his hand back into his pocket.

"Okay? We're good?" Caitlin checked, keeping her voice level.

Savitar rolled his eyes. "Sure, Caitlin. We're good." His tone was still throaty, sleepy. She smiled and stood again, but at the sudden movement he leaned away, turned toward the exit. Answering her inquiring look, he said, "I need a run."

"You don't have to go out and look for them," Caitlin quickly informed him, winding the heels of her hands. "Nimbus. And Rory. I told you, I'm really okay."

Savitar glanced at her over his shoulder, eyebrows arched. Then he flashed out of the building, scattering papers and throwing her hair back into her face.

Caitlin rolled her eyes, pulling her seat back up to the desk, reaching to throw the Big Belly Burger bag away. A noise inside, a weight she hadn't noticed, made her pause. She opened it, glancing inside.

 _Oh_. He'd left her a full container of french fries.

Caitlin pulled one out, popping it whole into her mouth. It wasn't warm anymore, but Big Belly Burger fries were not the sort to get _too_ chewy when they weren't fresh. As she ate, her mind drifted to her _shadow_ of a friend. Thinking of him in that context still felt wobbly, but she was determined to use the word more often. Someone had to start.

Something about his posture, his eyes, made her mind whirl. There was a laboring, very slow and drained in it all. He looked wiped, to put it mildly. She wasn't an idiot. Time to check something.

She opened the security footage of the building, all rooms, from the past three days. Since she'd left. Caitlin was unsurprised to find that he hadn't been there much at all—no, the troubling thing was that he didn't seem to be there at _night_. During the entire course of her stay on Earth-1. He wasn't in S.T.A.R. Labs. Not his room, not the Cortex, the med bay, the Pipeline. Certainly nowhere with a bed.

Caitlin really went to town biting her lower lip. Her fingertips turned white against the mouse, clicking and clicking and dragging and swiveling. She tapped into the history of his suit's tracker, watching the little green circle signifying the speedster zoom all over the city, every night, all day. Barely ever returning to home base, only stopping for food once or twice in the span of 72 hours.

Snow shook her head slightly at the screen. Her fears were confirmed. Savitar had not slept in three days, and had hardly eaten anything either. And according to the current tracker on his suit—which was moving thirty meters slower than usual—he wasn't doing either one now. He was checking warehouses, basements, the outskirts of the city, all in minutes, moving, moving, moving. The footage of his room this evening showed that he had only been asleep when she found him because his body gave out on him. He'd apparently made the mistake of sitting down on the cot, just for a moment, and was soon dead to the world. And even that had only lasted an hour and a half, physically not enough. Caitlin heard herself sigh, loud and short.

Yes, she was a control freak. She was bossy, she was high-strung. But sometimes people needed that sort of energy in their lives. Such an influence kept them healthy. This was not healthy. And this last little jaunt was going to take a very big toll if she knew her stuff.

Savitar returned to the building in an hour's time, but when he reached it, the monitors told her he had reverted to a walk, not a run, and was now moving at a pace just below average through the corridors. She got up and went to meet him.

He seemed to be in the process of changing into his civilian clothes when she reached him; he was pulling his right arm through his jacket sleeve, fixing it over the Hammond Cuff, when she came around the corner. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed more prominent now than before, and Caitlin's heart lurched and grew flinty around the edges to see them. Speaking of being stupid.

"Savitar," Caitlin said, before he could do anything, "you should rest."

Savitar stopped in front of her, looking down with a sand grain of intrigue. He smelled like rainclouds, which would have been distracting and probably counted as a compliment, if she weren't so unhappy with his recent habits. He'd been spending too many hours outside in the autumn wind. She saw for the first time that the whites of his eyes were tinged red—allergies still making an appearance, then. This did nothing to improve her concern.

"No thanks," he replied quietly, unblinking.

"You may have superhuman abilities," Caitlin said, trying to sound gentler than she felt, trying so hard not to be commanding, "but that doesn't protect you from exhaustion. You need your sleep. Your body burns too much energy not to recharge after a while."

Savitar rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand. "You've been..." He seemed to search for the word he wanted to say. Caitlin's eyes narrowed. Super speed did not have anything to do with sleep deprivation. The average person found conversation difficult, a chore, after having gone as long as he had without sleep. This just further confirmed it. At last he settled for, "...spying."

"And you've been looking for the metahumans," Caitlin countered. "You were right before, you _do_ need a break. Take one."

But he grunted, shoulders bobbing a little. "Nnnah," Savitar rasped, sighing low and long. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"Ah, I...did something kind of dumb." A little crooked half-smile. "I _promised_."

Caitlin felt the air hiss out of her, guilt swamping her chest. "You do not have to find them tonight. You don't even have to find them this _week_ , if it means you'll sleep."

Savitar tipped his head to one side, still staring at her. "Does it bother you that much?"

"Yes!"

He did smile then. "Oh," he said, raising his voice just a bit, "then I'm _definitely_ not sleeping."

Caitlin scoffed. "Okay, now you're just being childish."

"Aw."

"You're sick," she continued, attempting to control her frustration. "You were practically staggering down this hallway. You can't function like this, speedster or not."

"I'm—" Savitar opened his mouth to speak, paused and thought for a moment, then finally said, "What's in it for me?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What—what do I get if I do what Mommy says?" Savitar folded his arms. His voice was rough, it sounded like his throat was bothering him. Caitlin nearly winced hearing it.

"How about a good night's sleep?" She offered dryly. "Not collapsing, not experiencing fatigue-induced hallucinations, actually living through the weekend?"

Savitar leaned his left shoulder against the wall lazily, arms still crossed. His eyelids drooped further and further, but he didn't seem to notice it. She saw his right hand shake just a little. "Sounds boring."

"Neither of us can do anything on this Earth to build you a real life if you're too tired to stand up. I mean, look at you!" Caitlin threw up her arms. Savitar did not seem daunted. She cleared her throat. "Okay—okay, make me a new promise."

Savitar had not looked away from her for the duration of the conversation, but here he squeezed his eyes shut for a split second, pinching the bridge of his nose. Barry had done that several times during Infantino Street, when they'd pulled that all-nighter on the Speed Force Bazooka. The similarity made her heart crack. "What?" he groaned.

"Make me a new promise. I got you your lunch. Time to pay me back."

Savitar let out a snort, eyes barely open now. "What is it?"

"Promise you'll sleep for a total of eight hours before you go back out again," Caitlin ordered, hands on hips.

"Eight hours." He made it sound like a ridiculous request. Savitar pushed himself up off of the wall, blinking rapidly at her. "And why should I do what you say?"

"Because I am your personal physician, therefore my word is law."

He sniffed, talking a little louder. "You're _Barry's_ personal physician."

"Yes, I know," Caitlin huffed. "And by extension, biologically, that makes me yours too."

"My what?"

"What?"

"That makes you my what?" Savitar was getting louder; he pulled his arms out of their fold and let them hand loosely at his sides, bearing down on her as if impatient. This was getting ridiculous. Even Barry had slept between rebuilding Central City after the Singularity. Caitlin had never seen that face this tired.

"Your personal physician!" Caitlin repeated, realizing she had raised her own voice with his. She quieted down. "Sorry. Just—promise. Sleep for eight hours, that's all I want you to do."

Savitar shook his head. "No."

"Savitar." Caitlin took a step closer, trying to channel her own mother. Whenever Caitlin disagreed with something, talked back, Mrs. Snow was always advancing, and it seemed to make her daughter shrink. Savitar did not shrink. As a matter of fact, he barely moved an inch when she came nearer. "If you don't get some rest soon, your body is going to give out on you. Superhuman speed and an accelerated healing process can only do so much when you don't even give yourself fuel to keep running. That and the fact that you're fighting a head cold right now—it's too much all at once, you're no help like this."

Savitar raised his eyebrows. "Are you trying to _put_ me to sleep right now?"

Caitlin turned on her heel. This was hopeless. He was hopeless. Prideful, antagonistic. She made a futile effort not to sound sharp, sighing, "I give up! You want to wear yourself to the ground, go ahead. But don't say I didn't warn you when you're passed out in a gutter somewhere."

She'd gotten about ten feet away before his reluctant, finally-serious voice caught up with her.

"I go to bed on one condition."

Caitlin tried not to look too eager to get her way, turning around slowly. "And what's that?"

 _WOOSH!_

He had grabbed her hand, and in a heartbeat they were in his room. She was sitting on the stool by his metal table, and he was climbing into his cot.

"You have to stay—" He laid back, taking another second to search for the words, throat drier than ever, "—where I can see you."

Caitlin, indignant at being dragged her and plopped into a chair, stood up. "I don't know what you—"

"People who hop wormholes in the middle of the night without saying anything," Savitar grunted, arms behind his head, "don't make the rules when they get back."

Caitlin stuttered for a moment. He wanted her here so he could keep an eye on her? What, did he think she just skipped into other universes _every_ night? He had the Flash's memories. He knew Cisco's vibes didn't come that easy. And besides, hadn't he seemed nonchalant over the whole thing earlier? Her experience told her this was lack of sleep talking; he wasn't devoting nearly as much time caring about what he said or how he said it as he usually would.

"I thought you didn't need a goodbye," Caitlin finally managed.

"That's right," Savitar rasped, closing his eyes. "This way you won't need to say it."

"This is not the—"

"Sit down, Caitlin."

She sat down. "I told you it wouldn't happen again."

"Good," Savitar spoke over her. "Quiet."

"What happens when _I_ need to go to bed?" she scoffed.

But Savitar didn't respond. She craned her neck, watching him. He was fast asleep.

* * *

 **(Oh, fluff. That's enough, fluff. It's time to plot now. Time to plot, Self. Self is not listening, guys. Ugh. Next chapter coming soon! PLEASE give me all your thoughts, yes, I DO read all of your reviews. I especially loved yours on the last chapter, Z and Ally [since I can't respond to either one of you privately]. You two were SO sweet, and I absolutely _adore_ those long, detailed reviews and reactions. That's the stuff that sets me write write writing! Thank you for taking the time to do that. Thanks for _all_ the reviews, everyone! You guys are fantastic. Keep it coming. -Doverstar)**


	21. Chapter 21: What's In A Face?

**(WARNING: Shorter Chapter than the last couple ahead. Forgive me. Writer's block is merciless. -Doverstar)**

* * *

It was very strange to be reading about your family when they came from another Earth.

For one thing, their history was not the one you were used to. The Henry Allen of Earth-66 had, apparently, met his future wife at work—she'd been the hospital secretary here. They had not known each other in college, the way Savitar remembered hearing it—or remembered _Barry_ hearing it—growing up. Instead, this version of his parents had never encountered one another until their days working together as adults, which meant that had the Barry Allen of Earth-66 _lived_ after being born, his parents would have been a few years older than Earth-1's Nora and Henry.

Not only was it strange that their history had changed and morphed to fit an alternate reality, but it was even stranger when you were reading about parents you knew _you_ had never actually had.

So he wasn't sure why he was wasting time reading articles and family-friends' blogs about Doctor Allen and his late wife, sitting in the Cortex aimlessly clicking and scrolling on one of the monitors.

When you didn't have a social life outside of rescuing strangers in disguise, you got curious about one too many things.

Savitar scanned photos of Henry Allen-66. His hair was fuller here, and he looked just a foot shorter than he should have been, but his smile was the same. Eager to help. Half-closed, wise eyes. Somehow, though, he was absolutely _nothing_ like Jay Garrick from Earth-2, less of the muscle and the steely resolve. In fact, upon digging deep into old high school records, Earth-66's Henry had once been blonde, not brunette. Even something as simple as genetics could be altered in a blink when you were dealing in the multiverse.

He decided to go ahead and find what he'd been avoiding since he sat down. _Nora Allen death, Central City, March 1989_ , he typed into the search bar. Barry-66's Birthday, his mother's _last_ day.

Of course, he read the newspaper article he'd seen a glimpse of on Earth-1 with superhuman speed. When he'd finished, Savitar sat back, biting the inside of his cheek. Outwardly he displayed no emotion, but inside him there was a hurricane.

He'd already been through one death when it came to Nora Allen—or he remembered going through it. Both versions—the version with an 11-year-old boy, staring down at the lifeless form that had once been Mom, covered in red and not moving at all. He remembered the version with the Flash, holding her when she'd passed, reassuring her before she left that her family was absolutely going to be okay. He couldn't explain the details during those last few seconds she had—that Henry would be free again. That Barry wouldn't be alone. That there was Joe and Iris, and soon there would be Caitlin and Cisco and Harrison Wells. He remembered finally being able to say goodbye.

 _This_ Nora Allen was even less his than the original, than Earth-1's, had been. She had died before knowing _any_ Barry; her son on Earth-66 had died within the same hour she had. So it shouldn't have ached in Savitar to be reading about how short her life had been here, or to think of Earth-66's Henry Allen, somewhere living his life with _out_ a family. Somehow, Savitar realized, every Earth Team Flash had yet encountered all had this one thing in common—each version of the Allens was broken. It was never whole, something always got chipped off, someone always went in a different direction.

He shouldn't feel this affected by it. After all, like everything but his speed, they didn't belong to him.

His _speed_. He always had that.

Savitar had just gripped the arms of his seat, about to push himself up to go for a run, when Caitlin click-click-clicked into the Cortex in her heels, back from her coffee date with Stein. And of course, she was talking before she'd fully entered the room.

"...thing I brought that gas chromatograph before I left," she was saying, looking at her phone as she came in. "Without it, we couldn't analyze the sample from Nimbus." She held up a palm. "Which we will eventually get." Finally, she glanced away from her phone, eyes cutting to him. "What are you looking at?"

Savitar closed the tabs he'd had open with a click so fast, she couldn't have seen it. "You," he answered dryly. "Talking to yourself."

"I wasn't talking to myself, I was talking to _you_ ," Caitlin huffed, sliding her phone into her pocket. "Never mind. Actually, I think it's time we test it—before you head out again."

"Test what?" Savitar grunted, turning his seat around in a lazy circle.

"This." Caitlin held up H.R.'s transmogrifier. She'd had it in her _other_ pocket. "Cisco's made some modifications."

As she explained, Savitar eyed it, ignoring the smallest of squirming sensations in his gut. If the Hammond Cuff had been anything to go off of—or the Flash suit—or the power-dampening meta cuffs—then whatever tweaks Ramon had made to the transmogrifier couldn't be something to get squeamish about. But Savitar had trouble trusting _anything_ that had to do with Cisco since 2024. It was one thing to have someone make something specially to help you—it was another if you were fully aware that that someone hated your guts.

Savitar wasn't _afraid_ , really. But he wasn't anticipating the results. Something related to Ramon was negative by extension in his eyes until proven otherwise—like, for instance, a certain bioengineer. And say the transmogrifier did its job. Was he going to like what he saw? Suddenly he felt ill-prepared. He'd gotten so used to looking in the mirror and seeing a face outside that reflected what had happened inside.

Caitlin noticed his silence. "...Unless you don't _want_ to test it now," she finished, clearing her throat.

Savitar stood up. "Just get it over with."

He stopped a few inches from her, arms crossed, waiting. He didn't recall there being any special instructions when you used the transmogrifier on yourself. All you had to do was stand and point it at your face, and the job was done. That, and he wasn't about to put too much energy into something that deemed his current physical attributes unworthy. It felt whiny.

Caitlin paused, turning a few tiny dials on the device, thumb poised over the main action button. She looked up at him soberly. "It won't fix it," she murmured apologetically.

Savitar raised his eyebrows, closing his eyes for a moment with an almost-silent exhale. "Doesn't matter."

"Okay," Caitlin announced, a little louder. "Take One."

She held the device near his chest, so that the beam would be pointed up at his head. Then she pressed the button.

A very irritating blue light coated the forefront of Savitar's vision. It was like looking into one half of a police car's bulbs, only twenty times as bright. There was a checkering of shadows, then, and an itchy kind of tingling over every inch of the skin on his face, his ears, his neck. After a few heartbeats more, the sensation was getting a little old, and Savitar squeezed his eyes shut in hopes it would lessen.

The whirring sound the machine made was abruptly cut off, and slowly the tingling went away too.

When he opened his eyes, Caitlin's expression consumed him. It filled the whole room, nothing else stood out.

She was looking at him analytically at first, for the split second before his eyes adjusted to the light. Just like a doctor, checking for any damaging changes. Then that split second was over and she fumbled with the device, leaning back; it clattered to the floor.

The sound didn't jar either one of them. Savitar felt no different, but he could tell with a glance at his governess that his feelings were lying. Something they did often.

Caitlin's eyes were huge, and her mouth was somewhat open. It moved a little, wider and narrower, as if she were trying to say something but she couldn't figure out how. Her eyebrows bent toward one another, and it would've looked concerned, but there was something a tiny bit pained in the movement, so concern for another could be ruled out.

Really, she was looking at him as if she'd been in need of glasses this whole time, and someone had just passed her a pair. Looking at him as if he'd _just now_ come into focus. Like she'd been a question away from acing a quiz she'd tried to crack for months, and the answer—an obvious one—had fallen into place. And the revelation was unexpected to her.

It was an expression that, in his opinion, spoke volumes to how she'd seen him all this time, and it made Savitar's heart curdle; someone had offered it a coating of cement and it was thinking it over.

Then she squinted, thunderstruck look shoved away to be replaced with the more familiar sharp curiosity. She _smiled_. Very, very slightly.

Savitar's head bent down half an inch, and the sudden need for the quiet to end overtook him. "What?" he asked shortly.

But Caitlin's own head wagged back and forth. "It's—I-I—you...need a mirror."

Savitar let out a small snort.

Caitlin led the way to the nearest washroom and stood outside in the corridor, leaning on the doorway, as Savitar went in gingerly.

He approached the mirror casually, aware she was watching him. No doubt looking for any signs of weakness, any dripping inside him. She could forget it. He didn't wear his heart out on his sleeve like the man she preferred. That openness was long dead.

But if ever there was a moment that would contradict such a claim, it was this one.

It was him. _Barry_. He was Barry, he was Barry again. In the flesh, after so _much_ time. His face was clear, from the left cheek to the bridge of his nose, up to his forehead, even creeping back along his ear, down his neck. The only sign there had ever been a tangle of scars there was the tiniest darkening in skin tone where they had been before, like a burn victim. Savitar didn't reach up to touch it—he was afraid he'd feel the ghost of the scars beneath the paint job the transmogrifier had given him. His hair was the same, different than the Earth-1's version—no gel, not coiffed at all, just sort of there, darker, falling however it would. It was his flesh that had changed. Right down to the five or four freckles, the lightest dusting of stubble 2024's Barry had barely bothered to care for. The same exhaustion, the same lack of life that Savitar had felt during his entire existence, made his eyes half-closed as usual, but...

He did reach up then, fingers whisking against the spot beneath his left eye but never making full contact. Savitar leaned just a little closer to his reflection.

"One blue eye," Caitlin said, confirming his suspicions. "Cisco said it might not cover... _everything_. I guess the damaged retina wasn't something that Earth-19 technology was built for."

Savitar didn't know that there was anything to say in response. People with dual-colored eyes existed, obviously, so it wouldn't be _too_ difficult to swallow out in public. But he'd grown accustomed to the sight of a baby-blue, cloudy blot where a regular green eye had once been. Now he had that regularity back—but in a different color, pupil and all.

He wasn't healed, but he _looked_ healed. And that was all people would care about anyway. They needn't know anything else. He didn't care if they did.

Savitar turned to watch Caitlin, whose gaze was now fixed on the far wall. "Well?" he breathed out.

Caitlin glanced up too quickly, but her eyes hit the plain silver shower curtain just behind him. "Well? Well what?" Her voice was polite.

Savitar turned away from the mirror, coming to stand uncomfortably close to her. In her personal space. The surest way to push a few of her buttons—Caitlin was the sort to find security in distance. She wasn't leaning away this time, the way she had been since he'd come to stay after the paradox threat. Even after she'd claimed him as a friend instead of an enemy after Nimbus, whether she knew it or not, she was always just a scosche further back than she needed to be. Barely noticeable to anyone except him. Part of Savitar _wanted_ her to pull backward. That was why he stood so near. He wasn't sure if it was a power-play thing or what, but he was frustrated to note the difference. The only thing that betrayed any discomfort now was the fact that she literally _would not look at him_.

"Caitlin," he said sharply, louder than was necessary.

She jumped, just a tiny bit, but he saw it. "What?"

Savitar's eyebrows rose. "This is it." He gestured with parted fingers, a lazy hand, to his face. "This is the whole package. No comment, you got nothing to say?" He found that hard to believe.

Caitlin cleared her throat. Twice. "No—no, i-it worked. You can go out and be apart of society without feeling—hindered, now. That's excellent. ...What else is there? I mean, as far as planning goes, if we want to try getting—"

Savitar pursed his lips. "Hey." He snapped his fingers, underhand, in front of her . "I'm over here."

She was stubborn. She closed her eyes now, feigning annoyance, shaking her head slightly. "You know—here." She pushed the transmogrifier into his hand. He glanced down at it and she hurried on, "You hold onto this for now. In case you...just...hold onto it. It's not like I'm going to need it any time soon. It's yours." A third throat-clearing, a straightening of the back. "Don't break it."

Caitlin turned and started down the corridor.

Savitar snorted to himself lightly. He was loathe to glance again into the mirror, some childish spark in his brain telling him if he looked again, the effects would disappear. He'd pictured the way he had once looked so often; it was a bit much to see it in person so blatantly. Besides, it was just a mirage. Knowing that toned it down for him, somehow.

But no one was reminding _her_ of that.

Easy as breathing, he was walking beside her in an instant. Her hair flew about her face in the aftermath of his speed, and she stopped dead in the corridor, righting it. Savitar stopped with her, slightly ahead, as if they were taking a casual stroll together and her fussiness was slowing them down and making him impatient.

Now she was looking at one of the lights on the hall walls. "I—I need just one second to—"

"One," Savitar counted in a monotone, folding his arms.

She rolled her eyes, but not enough to land on him. "Do you _ever_ let anyone else have what they want?"

He grinned at that, shrugging a little. "I know what you want," Savitar informed her carelessly. "You want me to turn this thing off, go back to being Mr. Hyde."

Caitlin stiffened. She scoffed, as if he were being ridiculous. "That is _not_ what I want."

"Okay. Then look at me."

She looked, but only for a second.

Savitar took a step or two closer. "Come on."

Half a second.

He kept moving, getting nearer with each word, noting how much more tense she was becoming. Dropping his tone. "What's the matter, Caitlin? What's the big deal? It's just me—"

"Stop it!" Caitlin snapped, glaring now, just past his ear. "Don't do that."

"Don't do _what_?" He spat, bearing down on her. "Don't look like _me_? Finally? You went back to get this thing so I could use it, _you_ set it up, _you_ turned it on. What's wrong with the result? How is _this_ worse than before? You wanted me to fix it and take it away, you want me to do things your way, you want me to listen, this is me, doing that. Look at me!"

She did. Defiantly. Her brown eyes were on fire. "It's too much." She scowled at him, but there was a catch in her voice. "I didn't feel it before. I mean—I _know_ what you are—" Caitlin backtracked starting again, frustrated. "I _know_ you are a duplicate of Barry Allen. I've done the calculations, I was there when he explained. I just—didn't _feel_ like you were...until now," she finished. "You told me you have all his memories, all his feelings, and I believed you, but it didn't really sink in until I could— _see_ it. All of it." She gestured to his face.

Savitar pushed away what felt suspiciously like a familiar throbbing in his chest. Ignored it, drowned it out in contempt and bitterness. Same-old same-old. "So what?" he asked dully, the words enunciated, drawn-out.

Caitlin blinked at him, shifting her weight, baffled by the question for a moment.

He elaborated. "So you get it, great. _Move on_. Not that big a difference, Caitlin," he told her scathingly, spreading his arms. "This was your idea. But if you want me to change it back—" he pulled the transmogrifier out of his pocket.

"No—" Her hand clapped to his, pushing the device back down out of range.

There was a moment of silence as he just looked down at her knowingly, and she stood there, letting her hand drop back down, stricken, meeting his gaze. She preferred this face. Savitar nodded faintly, almost smirking, but it was halfhearted. His entire countenance said _I knew it_ , because that was what his brain was screaming, and Caitlin seemed to read it immediately. Everything about _her_ countenance was frozen there.

Savitar shoved the device back into his jacket pocket, sneering at her. "Are you sure you're gonna be able to handle my little makeover, Doctor Snow? This isn't gonna be a problem, is it, I mean, we don't want any distractions."

Caitlin knew when she was being derided. "No," she replied coolly. "I _think_ I'll manage." She straightened right up, head high, and resumed walking back to the Cortex.

Savitar joined her, falling into step beside her again, but this time he walked backward.

"You know," Caitlin broke the silence as they entered the Cortex, voice still careful and chilled, "now that you can be seen in public without too many questions—how long has it been since you had coffee?"

Savitar raised an eyebrow. "I had some this morning, but thanks."

"I mean, how long has it been since you stood in line and _ordered_ coffee, instead of speeding through and leaving some cash?" Caitlin clarified.

Savitar cocked his head, squinting. "Why?"

"I say we give your new look a test run," Caitlin announced, smiling suddenly. "How about Jitters? They're open pretty late on weekends."

Savitar watched her, taking in the smile, the squared shoulders, the nervous shifting from foot to foot. She was trying to make amends for her slip-up in the hall. Trying to make nice. And what on earth made her think he wanted anything to do with it? Why would he stand in line for caffeine if he didn't have to? Why would he give his order to the barista if he didn't have to? When he could zip in, make his own drink, and zip right out again with a tip on the counter? There was nothing stopping him. He'd had an excuse with the scars, and now—now she'd gone and kicked the excuse to the curb.

Her smile seemed a little hopeful, actually. A little genuine. Maybe this had been an offer she'd planned all along, ahead of seeing him without the mess of scars. She'd probably wanted to suggest this before _bringing_ him the transmogrifier. She hadn't counted on Barry's face, hadn't counted on her own reaction, and how she was determined to follow her little mental list, to make things controlled again. Did he accept the offer, was that a box she needed to check off?

"Who knows?" Caitlin added dryly, crossing her arms. "You might actually make a new friend."

 _FWOOSH_!

He'd been to Jitters and back before she had time to take her next breath.

Caitlin looked miffed as he passed her her tea. "What—"

Savitar lifted his own cup to his lips, looking at her out of the tops of his eyes. "I don't need a new friend."


	22. Chapter 22: Chemical Subtraction

**(I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY, DON'T KILL ME PLEASE. I'm okay, by the way, reviewers, I am not in the path of Hurricane Harvey! Still battling writer's block, but your comments are helping with that. Also, I'm heading to DragonCon until September 4th, so this fic will probably not be updated until after then, which I hate and apologize profusely for. Don't leave me! I'll be back, I swear, it's just a few more days. Hopefully this pathetic little chapter will be enough until then. Love you people! -Doverstar)**

* * *

Lisa Snart of Earth-66 had grown up with an abusive father and a big brother who had lost all sense of self-worth. Lenny was never one to stand up for himself—but he'd do it for his sister. In fact, nine times out of ten, he was the one who took _her_ punishment, whenever daddy had had a little too much to drink and had deemed Lisa the reason for whatever was making him angry at that particular moment.

When Lawrence Snart had up and left late one night when she was 17, 31-year-old Leonard Snart had returned from a life on the run—running from their mess of a father—to take her home with him.

As a teenager, Lenny was literally her hero. But well into her adult years, they realized who was the more prominent personality between the two.

Living in a tumble-down basement of a friend of a friend of a _friend_ with her struggling bro was _not_ what Lisa had envisioned freedom being. They needed cash, and Lenny introduced her, at her impressionable age, to his favorite get-rich-quick scheme: steal stuff and kill whoever got in your way.

Actually, the _kill whoever got in your way_ part was her own addition. A woman's touch, if you will. Leonard Snart showed a slightly empty appetite for taking lives, whereas his hardened little sister saw people as obstacles rather than souls. They were fine until they made your life harder, then they needed to be ejected from the scene, and the fastest way to do that was with a gun—her favorite means of solving problems.

Lenny was not as seasoned at the whole _criminal_ thing as he had led her to believe. He was smart, all right, but not smart enough—he was a kind of wild child, drunk with the exemption of a ruthless father, and it made him reckless. A train wreck. Lisa found that she was the sibling with a knack for wrongdoing, and her darling brother ended up following _her_ lead by the time she was 31.

Then the S.T.A.R. Labs accident had happened, and the city went upside-down.

Crime was everywhere—rumors of _special_ people using their newfound abilities to get what they wanted became everyday conversation. Lisa and her brother were spared any funky genetic alterations, but the competition on the streets for heists and such became that much fiercer. It was tough out there when you weren't endowed with superpowers and you didn't _do_ domestic labor.

But then she'd met someone who could help.

Someone who was a master at all of it—stealing, cheating, killing. Someone smarter than all of them but wiling to share the action. And he wanted _her_ on his team.

Lenny had been good to her, for all his bumbling. But a bird's gotta leave the nest sometime.

So she'd struck out on her own. Well, not _entirely_. Taking the stranger up on his offer meant becoming part of a little crew, a team, a posse. A gang of Rogues, but apparently that name was too _cliched_ and the idea had been shot down early on. Whatever they were called, being one of them was a lot better than trying to make it big on her own.

There was something there for everyone. And Lisa, like the rest of this mini-king's subjects, wanted her own piece of the pie, her own corner of the playground to play on.

Her first solo mission was to stick up a bank. Classic. Rough a few people up, take some money, get out without needing reinforcements. And she'd almost done it, too—but hostages were a mistake.

Everything had gone a little sour—one of the people in the building, or maybe in the parking lot, happened to be a cop. A blonde with a nice build. Cute, but he was trouble, and he had the place surrounded immediately. So hostages were the only thing Lisa could think of to keep the boys in blue at bay while she tried to think of a way out of the bank without calling for backup.

She could've redeemed herself.

If _he_ hadn't shown up.

The running man, the shadow, whatever he was. The fast guy. _Freakshow_ , Rory's little nickname for Central City's newest superhuman pain in the neck. He was everywhere, tangling with _everyone_ , even Lenny—and Lenny wasn't apart of their little operation. Lisa had heard he'd been the driving force behind their group's most recent difficulties, though she wouldn't believe one man could catch hothead Rory all on his own. Rory had a one track mind, true, but he wasn't someone who went down easily.

Being thwarted by the speedster herself changed her mind.

And now she was in prison, set to be moved to Iron Heights to join her brother in the morning.

 _Oh well,_ she thought, examining her nails as she sat back on her cot. _At least I got to fry Speedy's hands before I left_. _That's something._ The chemical on her weapons was lethal, and she'd seen it staining his stylish black gloves just before he'd sped away. Doing some damage as a parting gift made her defeat a little less frustrating. Besides, she and Lenny would be out of Iron Heights in two hours, tops. Those cops didn't know what they were in for, putting her in the same building as her big brother. They may not always be on the same page morally, but together they were a force to be reckoned with.

She was torn from her thoughts at the sound of the door sliding open down the aisle. Lisa didn't bother getting up to go to the bars of her own cell and take a peek. Nothing interesting happened in prison, her inmates were silent and smelly, and her warden was less than good-looking. Probably too many frappuchinos in an effort to stay awake during the night shift.

Lisa heard the jangling of keys as they twirled around a finger, and a jaunty whistle, something that sounded an awful lot like _Here Comes The Sun_.

There was only one person who could whistle that song so perfectly, so clearly, and _so_ ridiculously often. But she'd seen the consequences if you insulted his taste in music; she wasn't entertaining the idea of suggesting a different tune every once in a while. Her heartbeat sped up, now she rushed to the bars, pausing for just a moment to fluff her hair.

It was too dark to really see him—which was fine, technically he wasn't much to _look_ at, but she could argue looks weren't everything in his case—yet she'd recognize the head shape and the smooth accent anywhere.

"My, my, _my_ ," said her rescuer, still swinging the keys. "Fancy meeting you here, luv."

"Come here often?" Lisa grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You got up off your throne just to open my cage. You know how to make a girl feel special." She reached through the bars for the keys.

But he snatched them backward so fluidly, she had to convince herself they hadn't been that far away the whole time. "Don't be grabby, it's terribly unattractive. And anyway, do you actually think you've _earned_ these?" The keys rattled; he was jiggling them slightly.

Lisa felt her smile slip away. She retracted her hand, suddenly aware of the danger of losing it. When he asked questions, it was time to tread carefully. Flirting was a dangerous move. "I did my best," she insisted, stifling the urge to pout, which worked on those lesser men. A bad idea here. "I didn't count on Roadrunner showing up to spoil my fun."

" _I_ did." He was still now. The keys had stopped swinging. "Why d'you think I sent you out alone? To a _bank_?"

"Initiation," Lisa responded, like a star student showing off. "To prove I can handle anything."

"Aw, how dreadfully arrogant of you. I am well aware of what you can _handle_ , Lisa darling." His voice became hard, cold. "I was waiting to discover whether our bother in black would be added to the list. I'm afraid you've really disappointed me."

There was no pout, flirt, or even the trace of a smirk in Lisa at that. None of her usual reactions. The tips of her fingers were starting to tingle a little, and she refused to name the emotion in her gut—she hadn't felt it since daddy had left home when she was 17. Fear. Nerves. Something in his tone was making her anxious. No one but Lawrence Snart had ever made her afraid, until _he_ had curled into her life.

"If you'd told me I was supposed to take him down—" Lisa began, though the volume dropped out when he shuffled a little closer. "…I could've done it."

"You _could've done it_ if you'd had what it took at all, preparation or no, luv." A rattly sigh. "No, sorry, it just wasn't what we're looking for."

"I've been running with you and your crew for three years!" Lisa gripped the bars tighter.

"Yes, and you're very good." His silhouette said he was examining the keys now, probably out of boredom. "Really. I got chills, watching you on that security feed. Gun technique, flawless. And all with a lovely little smile! _Gold_. But when it counted, you were on the ground."

"So—what? You came all the way here yourself just to tell me I'm out?" Lisa breathed, still feeling that creeping sense of horror, of indignation. After everything she'd done. And she hadn't even known she was being measured and tested—if she'd _known_ , if only they'd told her he was coming, the running man wouldn't have stood a chance.

"Don't be so melodramatic," her rescuer hummed. "I came here to release you. I do believe you'll have to cancel that dawn date with your dear brother."

There was a twisting of an arm through the bars, a click of keys in a lock, and her cell door swung open—silently.

Lisa felt all tension shoot right out of her at the words. She stepped out into the aisle, trying not to exhale too revealingly, relief pulling her smirk back into the light.

"However." He was behind her, and there was something cold and metal up against her neck. Lisa fought that same fear threatening to suffocate her long before he could. No one else could bring it out so suddenly. "This will be your last chance. Prove I didn't come into this frankly odious establishment for nothing."

Lisa nodded very gingerly, careful not to brush too energetically against the knife.

"Excellent. If you waste my time again, you'll have the honor of becoming an only child." The knife disappeared, and he released her. "Come along, Snart. I do believe we've overstayed our welcome here."

* * *

"You look like a cornered cat," Caitlin muttered beneath her breath.

She and Savitar were at Jitters, after five days of Caitlin nonstop mentioning it—in the med bay fixing a dislocated arm, in the Cortex over the comms, in the corridors just before bed. Finally he had agreed to _go in, order, go out_ that morning when she entered the engineering room to run some tests on Cisco's vacuum device. According to a recent video chat, he still had not decided on a name for it.

Now they were standing off to the side, waiting for their drinks, Savitar apparently a mix between extremely bored and extremely uncomfortable. People weren't staring at him any more than they were staring at Caitlin, but he did a lot of staring himself: from the elderly man in the corner booth to the little girl and her brother just coming inside. He didn't look at the menu and he didn't look at the bake case, or the barista. If anyone ever met his gaze, he switched to looking at Caitlin.

The tiniest of exhales through his nose escaped. "Guess I'm not used to people just seeing me," he grunted.

She fell silent at that. Maybe he wasn't used to people noticing his existence—or noticing it _briefly_ , like average humans did, instead of gawking at a mass of scars—but he had it easy. What was tough was being on the outside, looking at him now that there was almost _nothing_ hiding the similarities between him and her best friend. Out of the corner of her eye, she would see him come into the room and she'd have to stop herself from greeting him with a grin or a steady stream of information the way she would Barry. Caitlin had to get used to the one blue eye and the lack of a smile, the tired voice and the black clothing, all over again. Because before, these were traits she had been starting to associate with _Savitar_ , but here was this jarring reminder that somewhere in his own head, and apparently on his own face now, he was Barry Allen.

Before the transmogrifier, the similarities had been unnerving. After, they were downright distracting. Heaven forbid she actually get him to crack a smile one of these days. Then she'd be doomed. Her poor brain wouldn't know who she was looking at anymore. Good thing he was the stoic type.

"Caitlin."

"Yes."

"You're staring at me."

She blinked, meeting his eyes. Well, one had to look somewhere while lost in thought. He just happened to be standing right beside her. But it was rude to stare.

"Right. Sorry," Caitlin mumbled, glancing back at the counter.

For the first two days after they'd used the transmogrifier, Caitlin had had to make sure she looked at him just as often as she looked at him before. But by the fourth day, it seemed she had become too comfortable with the lack of scars. It was so good to see a familiar face from Team Flash here—even if she was reminded often that this wasn't _that_ Barry. Now she was having to find a middle ground—to look at him enough so that he wasn't offended, but not so much that it was odd. Really, any of it could offend him at this point. That was another code she was trying to decipher.

Suddenly someone pushed past her, in a rush, jostling her so that she had to back up and stepped on Savitar's foot in an attempt to get out of the person's way.

Savitar lazily and robotically steadied her, glancing in a bored sort of way after the culprit. "Somebody's in a hurry."

Caitlin followed his gaze, about to apologize for stepping on him, when the sight of blonde hair and sturdy shoulders stopped her. "That was Eddie," she announced dumbly.

Eddie had, at that moment, reached the door. As he turned the corner out the window, Caitlin noticed he was on his two-way radio, his face tight with stress.

Savitar's voice finally took on a tone of interest. "Wonder where he's going."

A glance at the News by the time they got back to the Cortex gave them their answer.

According to helpful Sandra Peterson, Lisa Snart had broken out of prison and was currently terrorizing a bar in the middle of the city. Aerial footage told them that the bar had been cordoned off by the police, of course, and Caitlin was willing to bet money that Eddie Thawne was down there in the thick of things.

Savitar was already in his Flash suit when she set to work patching into the bar's security cameras. "This'll be quick."

Caitlin's blood ran cold, surveying the images on the monitor. "Don't count on it," she muttered. "Look."

He joined her, looking over her shoulder. Onscreen, the bar was upside-down. Chairs turned over, scattered everywhere, broken glass glinting in the low light, tables either broken or toppled. The footage was fuzzy, but Caitlin could see Lisa trying to pry open the cash register with a crowbar, wearing her resistant black gloves. A little clichéd, but she wasn't her Earth-1 big brother; she'd have to resort to using force rather than experience and brain to open it.

Savitar was looking at the corner of the screen, where a figure could be seen near the door. "Nimbus."

"It doesn't look like there are any hostages this time," Caitlin observed.

"Good." Savitar headed for the exit. "No one will get in the way."

As she flashed out of the room, Caitlin scrambled for the comms. "Wait! You need Cisco's vacuum—"

"Already got it."

* * *

Savitar _loved_ fighting.

He loved it almost as much as he loved running. Maybe more than running. The thrill, the adrenaline, the satisfaction of taking out your emotions on someone who deserved it—it was his aesthetic, you might say. And he had a _lot_ of emotions to take out. Yes, it was a much darker guilty pleasure than Earth-1's Barry Allen could dream up, but that made it all the sweeter.

Yet another difference between them was that for Savitar, this had never been a _guilty_ pleasure. Just a pleasure. In his early days, becoming a god through the ages, he had entertained the theory that he had been struck by that lightning bolt in his lab to dish out punishments to those worthy of them. That this was what his incredible power was made to do. Barry Allen had always gotten the same thrill from taking down the bad guys—but never this thick, and not for the same selfish reasons. He loved seeing justice done, being a part of that, helping. He envisioned every person the villain had hurt when he fought them, and he only threw the first punch after being certain it was on their behalf. Not Savitar. Now that he wasn't to be a god, Savitar threw the first punch on his _own_ behalf. Because he felt like it. And it felt great.

More and more, though, it was _becoming_ a guilty pleasure. This probably had something to do with Caitlin's ever-increasing orders not to do more damage than was necessary, the fact that she was watching and listening. Probably also the fact that she expected him to go off the rails. He wondered if she still expected it, now that the transmogrifier had done its work.

Actually, Ramon's vacuum device was a bit of a kill-joy. He didn't _have_ to do anything to Nimbus with this strapped to his back. Nothing but flip a switch and suck him up. Of course, he'd have to wait for the other guy to become a substance suckable—and that might mean a good wrestle after all.

Upon reaching the bar, he didn't stop running long enough for them to see him come in. Them, or the cop barricade outside. He dodged the wreckage in the room and made a beeline for Snart, who was still trying to pry open the cash register like an idiot. There was nothing stopping him from taking _her_ down.

He ripped the crowbar out of her hand, lifted her up, and tossed her against the nearest standing table. It cracked in half almost immediately—it wasn't as sturdy as it looked—and she landed on the rug in a pile of splinters and surprise. All of this in a matter of seconds.

Lisa blinked up at him, shaking her head so that her hair would fly from her face.

Savitar grinned. "Someone should've stayed in prison."

Something slightly desperate flashed across her expression in the split second when she focused on and recognized him. He didn't understand it, but it was almost pained. He chalked it up to the usual last-resort panic baddies felt when they knew there was no chance against the Fastest Man Alive.

The it was gone and she was scrambling to her feet. She looked him up and down, taking in the vacuum. "What are you _wearing_?"

Savitar decided not to respond to that. He glanced at Nimbus, who was guarding the door, pale, wide eyes trained on the speedster with something like hunger. Savitar gritted his teeth, hearing Caitlin's heart monitor in the back of his mind. Suddenly Lisa became a waste of time.

He left Snart where she stood, and before she'd completed her current breath he was seconds from colliding with the Mist, whose smile seemed to grow the closer he got.

But Lisa would not be ignored. He heard her gun fire three times just before he reached Nimbus, and darted to the left just in time, taking a tour around the room and coming at Nimbus from the other side. The bullets were still in the air at this point, and heading straight for the Mist. Savitar briefly entertained the idea of letting them fall where they may, but he could picture the look on Caitlin's face when he returned with news that there would be no gas sample to cure Mrs. Stein after all, and he rolled his eyes, snatching the bullets one by one from their course.

He stopped in front of Nimbus, facing Lisa, holding up his hand and very deliberately dropping the bullets, letting them clatter to the floor. Lisa gave him a look that would fell a Hun.

Savitar glanced over his shoulder at Nimbus. "Is it my turn yet?"

The Mist raised his eyebrows. "Show-off."

With a _whisshh_ , a cloud of green took up that corner of the bar, and Savitar held his breath at exactly the right second. He itched to say _big mistake_ , but that would require oxygen that wasn't polluted, so he kept it to himself. Time to test out Ramon's little machine.

A flick of the switch, and Savitar felt the tube grow hot in his hands as he held it out—any direction would do; Nimbus was essentially all around him. But though it made a convincing humming sound, nothing happened. The green remained airborne.

Unable to hold his breath any longer, Savitar left the vacuum where he stood andflashed out of the cloud, up onto the second floor, onto the balcony. He had to dodge more of Lisa's very well-aimed bullets on the way. He pressed his fingers to his comms system.

"Caitlin," he gasped out.

Caitlin, who had apparently been away from the comms in the Cortex up until this moment, responded from what sounded like another end of the room, gradually getting louder as she went back to the desk. "What is it? Are you okay, what's happening?"

With a cough, he decided to dismiss the fact that she was apparently not monitoring him the way she always had. On another Skype call with her real friends? But there was no time to be snarky. "You didn't say Cisco's toy needed to warm up," he spat.

"What?" He heard the sound of keys clicking; she was probably pulling up the blueprint Cisco had given her on a hard drive before she left Earth-1. "No—that's not right, it doesn't say anything here about…"

Kyle Nimbus was behind him. He could smell it, even when the meta was in human form. Savitar turned to meet the Mist's eerie grin.

"Am I interrupting your little chat?" Kyle tsked, hands slowly dissolving into gas, the substance creeping up his arms. This was something Earth-1's version couldn't control. "Weird. I thought I _ended_ your secretary."

Savitar heard blood roaring in his ears, familiar as ever. Avoiding the arms, he delivered an uppercut, slugging Nimbus beneath the chin so that the other man toppled backward, wafts of the gas flying through the air as his arms pinwheeled to create balance.

Savitar was _this close_ to leaping on Nimbus and making him a human punching bag, but the meta was made of poison before he could, whirling around the speedster, thicker and thicker, clearly trying to penetrate his system without being inhaled. The gas did have some effect on Savitar's vision; he blinked stinging tears from his eyes. Everything was blurry.

"Savitar? The scanners say Nimbus is on top of you! If you don't have the vacuum, you _need_ to get out of there!" Caitlin's voice was getting tighter and tighter.

But there was a loud, smooth _whoosh_ , and the green around Savitar was being pulled away like water down a drain.

When the air was clear again, everything was quiet, and Savitar breathed heavily, sucking in deeply. He looked around, confused. A fourth figure had entered the building.

Crouching a few feet away from him with a very relieved expression was Eddie Thawne, the vacuum strapped clumsily to his back, still holding the tube. When Savitar met his eyes, Eddie sighed, "Oh, thank God that worked."

Savitar stood up straight, flexing his fingers. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you," Eddie replied proudly, straightening himself. "And…cleaning up, apparently." He took off the device, setting it down with a little more effort; it was heavy and now it contained one whole sulfurous metahuman. He chuckled a little, slightly out of breath. "This one's gonna be hard to explain at the CCPD."

Savitar zipped over and took the device, slinging it onto his own back. "You won't have to. He's coming with me."

Eddie's eyebrows pinched together. "He's a criminal. Whatever he is, he belongs in Iron Heights."

"You're still out of your depth," Savitar said, shaking his head. After a moment, surveying the scene, he asked, "Where's the other one?"

Eddie glanced around. "Snart? She must've gotten away while you two were—doing whatever you were doing. You were the only people here when I came in." He was wearing a bullet-proof vest and everything. He squinted, cocking his head. "You know what these guys are," he breathed, nodding to the vacuum. "You're one of them."

Savitar crossed his arms. "I'm something."

"Who are you?" Eddie asked at last, a hint of a smile twitching. "Why are you doing this, not robbing banks and bars like the rest of them?"

"Did you get the sample?" Caitlin's voice crackled in his ear, tense. She was probably saving a lecture about taking her advice for later. Writing it up in her head.

"I got him," Savitar mumbled into his comms. Louder, to Eddie, he said simply, begrudgingly, "Thanks for your help, Detective."

With that, he headed back to S.T.A.R. Labs, leaving Thawne to clean up his mess again.


	23. Chapter 23: Open Up

Caitlin shouldn't have been surprised at the emotion in Professor Stein's voice after she told him about Nimbus. About the sample that Savitar had finally extracted. But she had only ever heard _her_ Professor Stein choked up once or twice. This one seemed slightly more vulnerable; he'd been through just enough to split him down the middle. When she informed the older gentleman that Savitar had captured the meta, Stein's tone had been cold and triumphant when he breathed "At _last_." A little light-headed, as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. But when she'd reminded him that this meant they had their sample to work on, Stein sounded like he was coming up for air, like he'd just finished drinking a large glass of water. He sounded like someone had hit him over the head with the butt of a handgun. A lot of stammering, and she realized he was trying not to cry only after he said, "When can we start?"

She walked into the Cortex, running through a list of preparations in her head as she spoke into her phone. "How does tomorrow sound?" She could barely keep the grin at bay. "I'll provide breakfast."

There was a smile in his voice now too. "6 AM," Martin insisted. "And not a millisecond later."

When she hung up, Caitlin turned to take her seat at her monitor, get some calculations going, but she started when she saw that Savitar was already sitting there.

"Professor Stein should be here early tomorrow," Caitlin explained cheerily.

Savitar snorted, shaking his head. "What makes you think he's coming here?"

Caitlin came around the desk and decided to take the seat beside him instead, booting up the second screen. "I just said he was. He said around 6, but I'll have to be up earlier than that getting everything ready—"

"I don't want him here." Savitar said it slowly, in a hard voice, clearly insinuating it was time for her to stop jabbering and pay attention to him.

Caitlin steadied her eye-roll. Patience is a virtue. _One…two…three…_ She turned the seat to face him, and it was spine-straightening to see that icy look on Barry's face. No scars, one blue eye, dark clothes—somehow he looked less like Barry now that the damage was hidden, and it probably had something to do with the constant shadow in his expression. She was still trying to find that perfect in-between place when it came to how often she was looking at him now, and her eyes flicked from his gaze to his arms, crossed tight over his chest, to his jawline and back to his mismatched irises.

Sometimes it was like he knew how hard it was for her to watch him with the transmogrifier's effects. It was something smug in the way he held himself, in the shape of his mouth and the way he'd lean slightly _toward_ her now instead of away. Smug and expectant. She really, really hated it.

"I need his help if I'm going to cure Clarissa Stein," Caitlin explained calmly, but inside she was tightened.

Savitar's head wagged again, but it was halfway this time. "No you don't."

"I do."

"You can do everything you need to do all on your own," Savitar told her with irritating confidence. "Cerebral inhibitor." He held up the wrist that wore the Hammond Cuff in a demonstration. "Velocity 6."

Caitlin shut her eyes for a second. That last one was a wretched example, and it made her stomach curdle.

"You've got the skill, Caitlin, you can do it without him." Savitar let his arms hang over his knees lazily and leaned ever forward. "You just want Stein here so you can strap him to S.T.A.R. Labs and start your little Flash 2.0 fan club, and everything will be just like it is over on _your_ Earth." A sarcastic grin sprang to his face and he gestured to the building with raised hands. "Home sweet home, Team Flash at it again. Well," he added, squinting at the ceiling briefly, " _almost_."

 _Six…seven…eight._ "I don't understand," Caitlin replied, exasperated. " _Why_ don't you want that? Why don't you want a team? How many times do I have to… _prove_ to you, what do I have to say, to get you to see you can't be a hero by yourself? You need—"

"— _your friends_ ," Savitar spoke at the same time she did. " _You need your family, you're never alone_." He rubbed an eye, as if she were just too much to deal with right now. "Don't you have any new material for me?"

"You're not answering me," Caitlin intoned, turning her seat away again. "It's his _wife_ , and he has every right to come and help save her, much more right than I do. I know you don't want any help, and I know you don't trust anyone, but I told you—you're never going to start over if you don't start somewhere."

He was laughing. He was snickering at her under his breath, light and quiet. _One…two…_ Finally, she turned back around, taking her hand off the monitor's trackpad.

"What?" Caitlin huffed. How was she supposed to get anything done when he was here, actively against her, in one of his moods? Barry was determined to have his way too, yes, but it was never quite this obnoxious, whatever she ranted to Cisco when the Flash had sped off to some danger despite her warnings.

"You know for a _genius_ , you sure miss a lot," Savitar informed her carelessly. Caitlin gave him a strained, sharp look, waiting, and he added, "I already started somewhere, Doctor Snow."

Tired of his games, Caitlin let out a tiny snort, reaching for the trackpad again.

"I kept you around, didn't I?"

That made her whip back toward him, indignant. Talking about her as if she were a pet he'd given a week to settle in, to get used to, and that she had passed some kind of test to be able to stay in his house. Her mouth open, gaping like a fish, trying to get out the hundreds of stinging retorts that flew through her mind.

Then she realized, in a stupidly late fashion, that he had just complimented her. Sort of.

She closed her mouth, and he sat there, eyes glittering at her, with that smug expression still painted on. Something in her heart grew a little warmer in his direction. Barry had a poetic way of telling people how much they meant, or what was nice about them. Savitar was simultaneously blunt and tucked away when he did it, and it sent her analytic brain tapping away at its keyboard, trying to solve him and this new personality tied to a familiar face.

And then the really _Caitlin_ part of her kicked in, and she saw a way to make her point clearer, however warm she was feeling. "And how did that go?"

Savitar had the heel of one shoe up against the winding white desk and was turning his seat to the left and right, just barely, watching her. Here, the bottoms of his eyes were scrunched a little, though a smile didn't actually form. "So far so good."

She smiled _for_ him. "See? If it worked with me, it can work with Professor Stein." She shrugged. "And he's already invited. Having Central City's big hero himself kicking him out tomorrow would be a little awkward, wouldn't it?"

Savitar's mouth twitched. "It's not gonna work," he told her quietly, almost amusedly. "He won't stay."

Caitlin pursed her lips at him. "We'll see."

* * *

Savitar was trying to get used to walking around with _out_ the suit, without the scars. There was a security in his metal armor—he moved faster in it, hit harder, and even his voice was disguised. There was some security in the Flash suit now, too, after having left the armor back on Earth-1. No one knew him; most of the population had no real confirmation that he existed. Only the words of the news and a handful of witnesses. And really, who believed the news nowadays? He was invisible.

But not plain, not in casual clothing and zero facial wounds. He was invisible in a way—in that no one looked at him more often than they looked at any of the other strangers on the street. In that no one really had time for anything but themselves, so one other human being was less to care about than the amount of steps it would take to get to work that day.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough of a disguise, being just another pedestrian. He still felt exposed, still _felt_ the scars beneath the mask the transmogrifier had supplied him with. One or two children glanced at him on their way out of Jitters, probably because he was dressed in all black and mommy said don't talk to strangers. The barista gave him the usual wary glances while she was pouring his coffee, but only the looks that came with someone waiting on her to be able to leave the establishment. All of it made him uncomfortable. All the attention. Once upon a time he'd craved it, craved their stares and their worship when he'd tried becoming a god.

As the city's hero now, the meta taking down the baddies, he craved their gratitude and admiration. He didn't crave casual glances and the average notice. It felt incorrect smacking against him as they went by. There wasn't enough awe in it. He was out of his element.

Upon obtaining his coffee, Savitar chose a booth in the back corner to drink it. No book to read, nothing terribly interesting outside the window, not even a phone to waste time on. He just sat and thought and thought. Brooding. He did that a lot, far more than Barry did. It looked better on him, anyway. Went with the black jacket and the darker hair.

A voice suddenly rose in excitement near the table closest to Jitters' entrance. "Seriously? No way—I mean—yes, yes sir, thank you. Thank you so much, that's—" then it trailed off as if interrupted, listening.

Recognizing the voice, Savitar craned his neck just a little, just enough to see Wally West seated across from a stern-looking man in a monkey suit. Wally was shaking the man's hand, and Savitar strained to pick up what the business type was saying as he passed a clipped bunch of papers to the college student.

"…need these to get into the building, do _not_ lose them under any circumstances. They're easily replaced," the man was informing Wally stiffly, "but that's not the overall problem. Should anyone find these documents, they'd have access to information given to employees only, and that's on you. If you lose it, I'm afraid your career's over before it begins. Got it?"

Wally was nodding a little too eagerly to be professional. "Absolutely, yes sir."

"Good. We'll be in touch, young man." The man shook Wally's hand one more time, standing.

Wally, still sitting, watched the guy leave the café, looking drunk with triumph. He was wearing a pale orange shirt and dark jeans, hardly the attire one would don when going to an important interview, which was obviously what the meeting had been.

Then West's head jerked away from the direction out the window that the businessman had taken, down the opposite end of the street outside. He scrambled from his chair and out the door with the usual jingle that erupted when someone came in and out of Jitters.

Savitar stood, meandering over to the window, bored, to see what the fuss was about.

Wally was outside, helping an elderly man up off the sidewalk. Around the two, a bouquet of lilies was being quickly destroyed by the people pushing by, and Wally was picking up each flower he could manage to gain whole, putting them back into their holder with care. Clearly it would look nothing like it probably had before the man had tripped, but Wally looked determined to salvage what he could. So did the crushed-looking elder crouching beside him and reaching for the broken petals. Most likely a gift for his wife—an anniversary or something. A familiar twinge, something like what Barry had felt when Earth-1's Wally had successfully mastered some lesson or other, erupted in the speedster's chest as he watched. Then it was gone, and he was cold again.

Wally waved away the man's thanks, beaming, and the two went their separate ways, West heading down the street and away from Jitters' wide window.

Savitar took a sip of his coffee, turning to go back to his booth. A flash of white caught his eye and he turned to see Wally's documents still sitting on the table where he'd left them, for the world to see.

Savitar's eyebrows rose, staring down at the papers. He felt the touch of a smirk on his face, but there wasn't enough emotion to bring it fully out. Of course the kid had forgotten them. Too bad it was in favor of helping an old man and some flowers. Well, that was what came of wasting time with small, lost causes. Sucked for Wally.

And then the papers were in his hand and he was headed outside, taking the steps two at a time and walking quicker than the average person in a hurry down the street after West.

Why? He wasn't sure. He'd stood there looking at the documents indifferently, when something flickered behind his eyes—the white of a bioengineering lab coat, the smell of a subtle perfume. A familiar quirk of a nervous smile, a voice that sounded suspiciously like the ones bossing him in his comms daily. It was as if she were standing next to him, innocently watching him, and he couldn't turn and leave the stupid papers on the stupid table with those brown eyes boring a hole in his profile. Caitlin Snow was in him somewhere, and he wasn't entirely certain when it had happened or how he'd allowed it, but he was regretting it already. It was wasting his time. It also felt warm.

Wally was crossing the street and had just reached the opposite curb when Savitar caught up to him.

The speedster used the back of the hand holding the documents to touch West on the shoulder, gaining his attention. "You forgetting something?"

Wally turned, confused and his eyes landed on the papers before they landed on Savitar. A large smile bloomed and he chuckled out, "Oh—dude—thank you!" He grabbed the documents, slinging off his backpack and unzipping it to deposit them. "I can't believe I forgot, that woulda been—"

As Wally spoke, Savitar glanced at the nearest building distractedly, not wanting to look at the kid, not wanting to recognize him and think of that wheelchair and the disowning and the silence. "Okay. Okay, great." He took one step to get around the boy, but Wally straightened up, blocking his exit.

"Seriously, I owe you. I'm Wally." He stuck out a hand.

Savitar didn't shake it.

Wally paused a moment, making sure Savitar wouldn't accept his gesture, and offered a slightly awkward smile. "What's your name?" he tried again.

Savitar almost rolled his eyes, but realized that would be a confusing response. What was his name? The _God of Speed_ title wasn't exactly on the list of 1989's Most Popular Baby Names. And Barry Allen was out of the question completely. There was no way. Every time he thought of himself as Barry, however natural it felt, all he could do was picture Team Flash 2024's faces, one by one, and the name flew from his mind as if running from him, the one thing he couldn't catch up with. He couldn't be Barry. He wasn't allowed. For so long he'd wanted to be, wanted them to see him as Barry, but he had been forcing those wants down with an acrid taste in his mouth—especially since he'd come to Earth-66, and Snow had decided they were friends—to the point where they were just a nagging in the back of his head at every touch and glance. Now he wasn't sure who he wanted her to see him as. What he wanted anyone to call him.

"Uh—no worries, man." Wally took the silence like a champ, and gingerly added, "Hey, where you headed?"

Savitar gestured to the end of the street, to the next intersection. West was talking enough for the both of them, no words necessary.

"Bus stop?" Wally's smile grew. "Cool, me too. I'll walk with you."

Savitar wanted to let the air hiss out of his lungs, wanted to speed out of this, run past Wally and back to S.T.A.R. Labs. He should never have touched those papers. But now there they were, and speeding away would be a little revealing—yes, it was he, the jerk who had kicked the kid out of the Labs and saved him from the EXPO. Secret identities were irritating things.

But in spite of himself, falling into step behind the younger man, Savitar heard himself ask in a rasp, "Was that an interview?"

"Oh, yeah," Wally glanced back in Jitters' direction excitedly. "I got it. My last job—uh—I was kinda out for too long—didn't show up to work cuz…it's a long story."

Savitar pictured the burn marks that had caked the kid's back a month or so ago. _Long story_.

"Anyway, I lost that one, so now I'm with Mercury Labs." There was an obvious note of pride in his voice. "Just hired. I've been through some stuff lately—I was thinking…" He sounded a little embarrassed, and glanced at Savitar, who was expressionless. "I wanna help people. You know? Like, more than just an engineering internship. That's what I did before. Now I'm gonna be an understudy—gonna build things for the company and all that, but I'll learn some doctor stuff too." Wally rubbed his nose as they reached the light. "What about you?"

Savitar grunted. "I'm—kind of a freelance operation."

"Freelance what? Like a writer or something?" Wally leaned against the bus sign, hands in his pockets. "That's what my sister wanted to do before she became a cop."

Savitar tried to keep his eyes level. _Wally's sister_. His gaze twitched to the view around them again. "Yeah. Something like that." Something like a _cop_ , anyway. Surprisingly, casual conversation with Caitlin Snow was easier than this. Though they both talked around the same amount. "So you're, what? Gonna be a doctor engineer?" It was a real hassle to keep the sneer out of his voice. He just couldn't feel any of the fondness he'd once had as Barry for Wally. Instead, just like at S.T.A.R. Labs, all he could see were West's bad points.

But Wally seemed oblivious to Savitar's bite. He laughed. The bus rolled up, and Wally spoke over its engine to be heard, heaving his backpack up higher onto his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess. I'm working with the head engineer and then the rest of the time I'm with their main doctor—you know, if somebody gets burned working on an experiment or something—Henry Allen, he's like their bigshot PHD, I think."

Savitar nearly staggered on the spot. Nothing online had alluded to what this Earth's Henry Allen had moved on to after his wife and child had died on the same night. Hearing the name made the blood run colder in his wrists and fingertips. He was still in the city. He hadn't disappeared, he was _here_. There was something cruel about it, and resentment welled up inside him.

Wally was glancing back at him from the first step into the bus. "You gettin' on?"

Savitar slid his own hands into his pockets. "I'll pass."

Wally looked confused. "You sure?" He glanced down the street. "What're you gonna do instead?"

Savitar grinned then. "Oh, I'll think of something. It's a good day for a run."


	24. Chapter 24: Repercussions

**(Forgive me for a week of inactivity, Jell-O Squares! And thank you for the kind thoughts in the reviews, I'm totally fine and so are my loved ones. I hope you all survived the hurricanes and whatnot, for those of you in that area. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm so sorry I was late. Also, if you want updates on my writing progress with this monster fanfic, check out my Twitter under DoverstarTJ; I sometimes post there about how long I estimate it'll take to get the next chapter up. Thank you for sticking with me and reviewing so diligently, friends! -Doverstar)**

* * *

The way Professor Stein moved as Caitlin led him into the building made her think that Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs must have been really something. Before the particle accelerator exploded, anyway. It looked familiar enough to her—nothing seemed too different from her own Earth's version, but the doors here probably hadn't been opened as often as the ones back home. In fact, Professor Stein behaved as if it were almost _wrong_ to stroll through the dusty lobby. His every step was ginger as he walked beside her, hands folded politely behind his back. Of course, the way his jaw was set told her that the thought of curing Clarissa was louder than all the others that must be flying through.

"The future," Stein murmured as they headed down into the corridors. When Caitlin glanced at him, he expanded, "That's what Harrison Wells called it, the night his grand invention failed us all. He called it _the future_."

Caitlin swung her arms a little while walking. She could remember _her_ Dr. Wells using the same words. _Future_ had been a bright, silver word, blurred with new possibilities and a wave of pride to be at her genius employer's side through it all. But after the accelerator had gone wrong, the future was dark and menacing, only visible when guilt flashed its light on her prospects. Guilt over what she had helped do to Earth-1's Central City, to its inhabitants, all the metas and the lives she'd had a hand in destroying. The pendant hanging from her neck told her firsthand what pain they felt, forever apart from the rest in some way, all because of S.T.A.R. Labs' fatal mistake. She wondered if this Earth's Caitlin Snow would have felt the same ache for her home, had she survived this version of the particle accelerator accident.

Martin Stein let out a short breath. "And I suppose," he said tensely, "despite its unexpected results, he wasn't wrong, was he? The future _did_ change dramatically. Humanity has achieved a state of being we never would have thought possible beforehand. It's just a shame everyone seems to have used it for their own selfish gain, rather than for the greater good."

Caitlin tilted her head sympathetically. "Not everyone," she reminded him, picturing a flash of yellow and a lightning emblem. Suddenly, she couldn't tell if it belonged to Barry or Savitar—no, to Barry or…Barry's _time remnant_.

Stein appeared to understand immediately, a very small smile playing about his mouth. He turned to her, hands still clasped behind his back, as they walked. "Ah, yes, our speedy friend. An inspiration. And this is your base of operations?" he added as they entered the main room.

"The Cortex," Caitlin introduced him.

"Tell me," Stein asked, "on whose authority are you operating S.T.A.R. Labs? Does anyone else know it's up and running again?"

Caitlin bit her lip. "Just us. It's—it's a long story—"

But Stein, seeing her discomfort, held up a weathered hand. "One I'm sure provides information unnecessary to my cause," he finished kindly. "You don't have to tell me, Miss Snow. I'll admit it's a relief to see this place put to some good use after all the damage it's caused, and that alone is good enough for me."

Was it possible to adopt a grandfather for yourself? Caitlin wondered fleetingly. And could you want to adopt two versions of the same man as that grandfather? Encouraged, she showed him how the room worked usually. "We run most communications through this system when Savitar is on the field—" she gestured to the technology, the small mic stand. "And I can track his progress through the monitors."

"And the crime?" Stein guessed, glancing around the room. "I assume you've tapped into police bands, er, _hacked_ into security footage surrounding the area, things like that?"

"It's not big on privacy, but…" Caitlin smiled. "It's more efficient that way."

"I see, yes," Stein nodded hard, studying the glass demonstration board. "Yes. And where do you keep the perpetrators?"

Caitlin stiffened a little.

Stein faced her, moving just as tightly. His jaw was set in that hard way he'd had it in Jitters, when she'd told him who was responsible for Clarissa's condition. "You told me you'd managed to get a sample of the gas contaminating my wife's system, so you must have the main source somewhere. Surely you didn't subtract just a piece of his toxicity, leaving the rest to escape and harm more innocent people?"

She wasn't sure how to respond. She didn't want him to know _this_ much yet. Not yet. It wasn't safe—sure, he was an elderly professor, a man of science, but even the Stein on her world had a kind of fire inside. If he were to face the man that had hurt Clarissa so badly, there was no telling what he'd do. And even if it was a righteous anger fueling him, Stein was no match for someone like Kyle Nimbus.

"He's here, isn't he?" Martin demanded. "In this very facility."

There wasn't really anything else she could do. How could she lie to him, tell him Nimbus wasn't right there, locked up, the way it should be? Unable to hurt anyone else. She'd told Savitar to exercise trust—it was time she took a little of her own medicine. Trust the Professor. He was a good man, and he wasn't stupid.

Caitlin went to the monitors, tapping into the surveillance cameras downstairs. "We call it the Pipeline," she explained quietly. "Some of the clear cells designed to monitor the particle accelerator—they're sealable, still fully operational—are perfect for holding metahumans."

Stein leaned over her shoulder. He smelled like tea and wooden walls, leather and a hint of a generalized cologne. Exactly what a teacher ought to smell like, she thought fondly. But all it took was one glance, and she could see this was no grandfatherly instructor watching the screen, watching Nimbus sitting bored in his containment unit. (Caitlin had left the metal door up to give Nimbus something else to look at than just the blue-padded walls for the night.) This was a man with rocklike pain inside, pain he'd kept for three long years as he sat beside his wife's hospital bed. There was a mountain of resolve and intense hatred standing unmovable in his chest, hatred for the thoughtless murderer on the monitors and a resolve to undo what he'd done. Stein's mouth was drawn into a tight line and his eyes were chips of metal.

He straightened. "In the flesh," he muttered. "He's just a man after all, not a demon or—or a monster. It's much worse now," he added, glancing at Caitlin, who was staring nervously at him. "Three years and it was just another _human being_ tormenting Clarissa. Altogether preventable, and right under my nose the entire time."

He moved for the door.

"Professor Stein!" Caitlin hurried to stand in his way. "Don't. It won't help."

Stein took a slow breath, and he looked at her the way he might look at a student who didn't make the cut. It was one of those _not-worth-my-time_ squints, and Caitlin had seen it so often on Savitar's face that it stung to see it replicated on the sweet professor's. "Miss Snow, you seem to be operating under the assumption that I am not a grown adult, that I have to obey you because you work with your Savitar hero, because you have more information than I do. That I can't make my own decisions. The creature in your _Pipeline_ ruined my life, and I intend to at least look him in the face _once_ , man to man, before Clarissa is up and moving again."

Caitlin put a hand on his arm. "The best way you can get back at Nimbus is to make that happen. Save Clarissa. After that, what power does he have over you? Either of you?"

Stein met her gaze, and she felt the hardness go out of him. She saw his mind racing over her words, weighing them, applying logic and extracting emotion from the situation in favor of results. He exhaled. " _Tie it to a goal_ ," he murmured. When she gave him a quizzical narrowing of the eyes, he went on, "Something Einstein said once. If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Shall we get to work?"

* * *

It took most of the day, and they weren't finished yet.

The gas chromatograph she'd brought from Earth-1 was an old one, and it ran slowly. While it worked, Stein and Caitlin did calculations, swapped ideas, and by 4 in the afternoon, the results of the scan were just starting to flicker onto the monitors. Stein was impatient, Caitlin knew, but to his credit he didn't lose his temper again. He didn't hit anything or even assume an expression of annoyance. He immersed himself in their work and his head didn't come up until his watch beeped, telling him he had forty minutes to get to one of his lectures.

"I'll expect you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed back here tomorrow morning," Caitlin warned him, pointing with her pen as he walked toward the exit.

Stein, pulling on his coat, glanced back and smiled wanly. "It's been a long time since I was anywhere near _bright-eyed and bushy-tailed_ , but I'll do my best, I assure you." He glanced around the room. "You know, I always wondered what it would be like, working here instead of my own company. Harrison Wells had a kind of dash and sparkle I never went for in my career; I never imagined the interior would look quite so…"

"Dusty?" Caitlin offered, removing her goggles with a grin.

Stein's eyebrows bounced. "Yes, I suppose that's the word, isn't it? Don't, er, get me wrong—you've done a fine job cleaning it up, I'm sure."

"It's a far cry from…" Caitlin closed her eyes a moment, picturing home. She settled for, "…what it used to be. But it's still the perfect place to do what we need to do."

"Helping people," Stein surmised.

"Helping people," Caitlin agreed, heart glowing a little brighter.

"And where _is_ Central City's savior?" Stein turned back to the doorway. "I would have expected he'd be in by now."

Caitlin shrugged, nerves resurfacing. "He's…not the _stay-at-home_ type."

"Oh, of course," Stein chuckled, setting his own goggles down on the white winding desk. "I should've realized—he'd have a life outside his hero business." He checked his watch. "Somewhere deep down, behind his extraordinary abilities, he must have the need for coffee and company, just like the rest of us, hm?"

Caitlin glanced at her notes, forgetting how she'd intended to end the sentence she'd begun. "Something like that," she mumbled.

Stein tucked his own pen back into his front pocket. "He has you, at least," he stated, but it sounded more like a question.

She did smile then, wider. "Yes he does." _At least_.

After Stein left, Caitlin took a break from the gas sample, rubbing her eyes. She stretched, standing and heading to the desk to track Savitar's suit. He must not have been wearing it, because the scanners showed it was in his room, dormant. Caitlin folded her arms, leaning back in her seat. The Cortex was still altogether too quiet.

Suddenly, papers flew around the room, and a blur of black and yellow dodged behind her. A warm brown paper bag was in front of Caitlin, and Savitar was in the chair on her right.

"Good afternoon," Caitlin grumbled, blowing hair out of her face. "Were you out all night?"

Savitar rested his feet on the desk. "Would you believe me if I said I wasn't?"

"You already caught Nimbus, Savitar," Caitlin sighed, standing and going around the desk to open the bag. "You don't have to wear yourself out anymore." She reached in and pulled out a moist blueberry scone. "Is this from Jitters?"

"The one in National City," Savitar replied, taking a sip from his own coffee. "Needed to stretch my legs."

"Well, thank you. I haven't eaten all day," she admitted, taking a bite of the scone and closing her eyes in delight.

After a moment of silence—apart from her chewing—Caitlin glanced up and saw Savitar watching her in that frozen way he did sometimes. There was something familiar in his mismatched eyes, but she couldn't place it and was a little too tired to try.

"You're tired," he said thunkingly, without feeling.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows, taking offense. "Okay, I am not wearing makeup today, but there was a lot to do at 5 in the morning—"

Savitar shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Your eyes," he interrupted. "They're half closed. You're moving slower."

Her mouth was still open, and she closed it abruptly. Was it part of his superhuman abilities, noticing these things so quickly? She knew he could read articles and things at the speed of light, but not people. All she'd done was stand and eat. Maybe take three steps. The way he looked at her sometimes, it was as if he were watching someone folding a paper airplane, memorizing every fold and press, able to replicate it a moment later. Not quite like she was being studied, more like she was being remembered.

"I've been working with Stein on the gas sample," Caitlin explained finally. "We can't create an antidote without analyzing the substance first."

"I know," Savitar told her curtly. He tapped a knuckle to the side of his own head gently, then spread his hands. "I built a suit that could resist the elements of the space-time continuum from scratch." He leaned forward a little. "I gave Wally his speed. I know science, Caitlin."

"And you worked in forensics," Caitlin added, raising a palm and letting it slap back down impatiently. "Right. I forgot."

He was looking at her like that again. After a second he said, "Barry."

"I'm sorry?"

"Barry worked in forensics," Savitar said slowly, cocking his head just slightly so that his hair moved out of his eyes.

Caitlin looked at the wrinkling of his Barry nose as he sniffed, the one green Barry eye, the strong arms crossed over his chest, the same lace-up Converse shoes on the desk. Same somehow-permanent, guttural morning voice Savitar kept 24/7. She cleared her throat. "Yes. I know."

"Okay." He squinted at her a moment longer, then stood up. "He's not gone."

"Who's not gone?" Caitlin shook her head, setting her napkin and the empty bag down again.

He was tapping a few keys, dragging his finger across the trackpad. Caitlin came over to see the screen. "Stein. He went down to the Pipeline."

"No," Caitlin argued, shaking her head hard. "He wouldn't do that, I told him—"

But the security footage confirmed Savitar's suspicions. Stein had just reached Nimbus' cell, and was standing staring at the wide-eyed meta on the other side of the glass, like someone had nailed his feet to the floor and his arms to his sides. Totally still.

Savitar turned up the sound with a hard tap on the right key.

"Take a picture, grandpa," Kyle was rasping, a tiny smirk fuzzy on the screen, but definitely there. "It'll last you longer."

"You don't know who I am," Stein realized aloud, voice like granite. "You don't know what you've done."

Kyle's head tilted, tipping onto his right shoulder, his arms slung over his knees. Caitlin saw his smirk grow.

"It doesn't matter," Stein clipped. He was breathing steadily, but Caitlin noted how his shoulders were hunched and strained. "It's over now. Everything you've ruined. I will rectify it. There are people here who will make certain that your life—your decisions—are null and void, in the end. Those you've hurt will be avenged. In fact, the only thing that will be remembered about you is the punishment you'll receive for your crimes. _Indefinitely_ this time." He inhaled, long and slow, speaking between his teeth. "And I don't mind saying how much I'm looking forward to that."

There was a pause. A very loud silence zapped between the two men in the Pipeline. Nimbus had zero recognition on his face as he looked at the scientist sizing him up, that was clear, but he seemed to grow more solid with every word Stein said. Less of a cloud and more of a person. Caitlin thought she might be imagining any effect Martin's determined speech was having on the Mist until the meta spoke again.

Nimbus lifted a hand that slowly dissolved into green gas. "You think this isn't punishment enough, old man?"

Caitlin heard Savitar shift beside her. She glanced over at him to see a gray look on his face, something reaching for the words Kyle had said, something relating. His knuckles were white against his palms.

Onscreen, Stein did not seem rattled by this. He turned away, saying very calmly and tightly over a shoulder, "Unfortunately your abilities, however taxing, are your own doing. I'm sure one does not enter a government _gas chamber_ by accident. You escaped the consequences once—it won't happen twice. I find comfort in the fact that everything you took from me and mine…is about to be reversed." He folded his hands behind his back casually, finishing with a quiet, "And, in the grand design this city has shaped for itself in the last three years—you will amount to nothing."

Savitar and Caitlin flicked from camera to camera, making sure that Stein left the building, left the parking lot, left the area at last. That nothing else could happen. When he was finally gone, Caitlin switched off the monitor, turning to Savitar, who was making his way around the desk to the doorway.

"Well," she breathed, leaning against the desk and shaking her head, feeling numb. "He definitely knows how to make an exit."

Savitar didn't reply, his back to her. He could have flashed out of the room, but he was walking. Was he tired too? Caitlin craned her neck, trying to see his expression.

"Hey," she called softly. He turned. "What Nimbus said—about…about his abilities." She licked her lips, thinking of how to ask. "You don't…feel that way about yours. Do you? I mean, they're not a curse. Not for you."

Savitar hesitated, silent for a few minutes, barely facing her. His eyes darted along the floor, and he seemed to be deciding whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged halfheartedly, hands in his pockets. His eyes were narrowed to sleepy slits.

"What else?" he responded huskily. "What else are they, then?" He came closer, moving as if it hurt. "If anyone deserves a punishment, it's me, right?"

Caitlin felt an odd, red feeling in her chest, a need to combat that—where had it come from? Wasn't he telling the truth? But her voice rose a bit anyway, trying to form words for the red. "You're—"

"Caitlin," Savitar cut her off, wearing the same tone he wore when he needed her to not talk. He sounded as if he were speaking to a second-grader, someone who wasn't hearing and didn't care to understand him, so he had to talk over them. " _Barry_ was the one the lightning chose. Not me."

The words went right out of her. She wasn't sure why. Because she was looking up at Barry's face and listening to Barry's low voice and at first, as _usual_ , it didn't make sense, what he was saying. But the truth in it made her breathing slow, her brain perk up and start writing.

"But…"

"I'm just a copy," Savitar reminded her, his voice quieter and quieter. "Remember?"

The blue eye wasn't milky anymore, she noticed, honing in on it. Not after the transmogrifier had done its work. It had a pupil, it reflected light, and it was sort of pool-colored now, not morning-sky colored. Caitlin looked him up and down and her heart was getting warm again. She couldn't picture the scars and the menace, for some reason. He wasn't even casting as long a shadow, tall as he was, standing over her. He wasn't intimidating all of a sudden. He was just there, looking like her friend and smelling like an acquaintance. Autumn city air still clung to him, and the jacket he always wore was starting to carry a familiar scent too, denim and pennies and something else, something kind of icy. She couldn't look at him as the enemy, and the word _copy_ was starting to sound filthy in her ears, but some Infantino Street echo in her still recognized its accuracy.

"If it was a punishment," Caitlin murmured firmly, standing up straighter, finding the words at last, "you're turning it into a gift." She lifted her chin, just a little teasingly in a maternal way, and folded her arms. But her tone was genuine as she added, "I'm proud of you, Savitar."

He shifted his weight and, yes, rolled those mismatched eyes. But he smiled, too. It was the first real, full smile she'd seen on that face. The Cortex didn't seem quite so quiet then.

* * *

 **(IT'S SHORT, I KNOW. Darn Doverstar, what you been doing? But the next is coming, I swear. Hopefully sooner than last time. Love you people! And you reviews are delightful, I do read every one. Give me your thoughts, Jell-O Squares! Thank you! -Doverstar)**


	25. Chapter 25: Tradition Time

**(Author's Note: I KNOW, SHE PROCRASTINATES AND DOESN'T UPDATE FOR LIKE A WEEK AND A HALF. Don't leave me, Jell-O Squares. Two jobs, church, and writer's block are formidable enemies. _Mea culpa, mea culpa_ , as George Darling would say. -Doverstar)**

* * *

It had been freezing outside, the first October he'd spent as the Flash.

Winter came earlier than usual in Central City that year, it seemed. He remembered thinking it was fitting, the frost and the chill amplifying after what the particle accelerator had done—to their home and to countless lives—in the _previous_ October. Maybe that was something else the explosion had given them without being asked: uncomfortable climates. Maybe this was how it would be from now on.

He'd just finished your basic burning-building mission when his stomach growled at an embarrassing volume, even as he was running.

"Woah, your sugar levels are practically nonexistent right now, bro," Cisco's voice had crackled over the comms system.

"You need to consume roughly ten thousand calories a day," came Caitlin. "Without it, you'll run out of energy, and in a pace as charged as yours right now—"

"Basically, find something to eat and eat the crap out of it," Cisco suggested brightly.

"Yes. That." Caitlin agreed, and he could practically hear her eye-roll.

So he'd headed straight for the grocery store—the nearest thing to him that had to do with food. The sights and smells of polished tile floors, aisles of packaged goods, and the produce section lasted half a second as he sped through, grabbed what he wanted, and left the cash in the bagger's hand. Civilians seeing the Flash in Publix was a less-than-heroic image.

When he arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs, Caitlin was sitting on the white winding desk and Cisco was at his computer, twirling his earpiece by the wire around one finger.

"You don't have to eat _here_ ," Caitlin had insisted, focusing on biology as usual. "Running all the way back just took even more stamina out of you."

"I got enough to share," he'd promised.

His dad used to say that eating was great, but eating together was greater. One of the many things he'd tried to bring out of that prison. If he couldn't have his father, he could at least have his lifestyle, his morals, his beliefs. Even the littlest, most meaningless ones. Like the correct opinion that food was better consumed between friends, rather than by yourself. It was with this in mind that he'd bought the entirety of a particular part of the frozen section. Enough to sustain a speedster _and_ a little extra for the speedster's team.

"Did you for real get _ice cream sandwiches_?" Cisco's mouth fell open.

Caitlin slid off the desk. "It's 30 degrees outside! And I mean 30 degrees _exactly_ ; it's not an exaggeration."

"No no no, Caitlin, this is dope." Cisco held up a palm to silence her. "You know not what you say. Ooh, triple flavor, gimme." He dove into one of the boxes, resurrecting three ice cream sandwiches in one hand.

He had grinned at them. "I guess I had a craving."

"You're not twelve weeks pregnant, Barry," Caitlin had scoffed. Back then she had been just a little too sharp around the edges, still stinging from loss and dealing with her own life's upheaval. But friends and ice cream went hand in hand, and even she couldn't resist with all her practicality. "Do you have strawberry?" she mumbled.

He held one out to her and began unwrapping his own.

"These are amazing," Cisco said between bites. "This right here is brain food."

"I'm going to have to wear an extra sweater when we're through," Caitlin sighed, gingerly licking a bit of chocolate off her finger.

"Me too," Cisco agreed. "Ice cream and winter—real good idea."

"Actually, ice cream's caloric content tends to make the human body warmer rather than colder," their bioengineer informed them, eyeing the box now that she'd finished her first sandwich. "But since I was cold be _fore_ you came back, and am now eating frozen—"

"So what you're saying is," he'd interrupted after swallowing his fourteenth in the past minute, "we should just always be eating these around this time of year?"

"Mm!" Cisco held up a hand that had gotten caught in a now-empty Mayfield box. He grinned a sticky grin at the two of them. "On October 10th, we eat ice cream sandwiches," he quipped, in his best Mean Girls voice.

Caitlin had allowed them a then-rare smile, and he had shaken his head, picking up the last box. It was indeed October 10th, and though they hadn't ever flat-out _said_ it was going to be a real tradition—mainly it seemed just as if Cisco were kidding around as usual—for the next two years, that was exactly what they'd done. He could be doing anything on that particular day. He could be up to his eyeballs in paperwork for the CCPD, or visiting Starling City, or fighting a new meta every hour. But somehow, each year, before the day was over, the three of them would find the time to eat at least one ice cream sandwich. Caitlin would come prepared with an extra sweater tied around her waist—an uncharacteristically 3rd-grade thing to do for her—and Cisco would hog all the triple-flavors, while he himself downed about twenty boxes in the space it took for the other two to finish half of one.

But they always ate it together.

* * *

On October 10th in Earth-66, Savitar was subduing two run-of-the-mill muggers who had targeting a teenage boy and his sister heading home from a nearby gas station.

One of the two baddies was already on the ground with a broken foot; he'd gotten in the way while Savitar was apprehending his accomplice's knife and one thing led to another—and the other villain was currently being tied to a bike rack on the sidewalk with a bungee cord the speedster had found in the alley. Savitar had used his speed to deposit the boy and his sister to safety a few blocks away, but when he'd returned he took the fight a little slower. He got more adrenaline than the original Barry Allen did on tussles, you remember.

"What is this?" the man puffed as Savitar finished the knot. His clichéd black beanie was slipping off his head and a nice fat lip was starting to form where Savitar had struck him. "Who are you?"

"I'm in a leather one-piece with a little yellow lightning bolt strapped to my chest." Savitar tightened the cord. "And _everybody_ asks. It's like you think I'm gonna give you an answer."

He sped from the scene before the man could embarrass himself further, leaving the one with the broken foot to fend for himself in the alleyway.

Static pushed through his ears. " _EEEEEEEEEEE_ —"

"Caitlin. Mic." Savitar warned agitatedly, almost missing the next turn in the road when he shut his eyes to the high-pitched shriek in the comms.

A little more static, then, "Sorry. It's more sensitive than the one on my Earth."

 _Her_ Earth. "What do you need?"

"There doesn't seem to be anything on the news or the local police bands for you to take care of."

Savitar snorted a little. "Is that what you called to tell me?"

"Yes. No—I mean—" She cleared her throat. "If there's nothing else to do—for now—Jitters just opened, and if you hurry there won't be a line…"

"You want coffee." Savitar scoffed.

"Yes, please."

He turned the street corner. "You have the bus." Changed into his civilian clothes in an alley. "You have legs. You have money." Taking the stairs two at a time. "Why are you telling me you want coffee?"

"Well…" She paused, and though there was an awkwardness to her tone, it also sounded irritatingly as if she were trying not to smile. "Before, it was because it's early and you're already out. Now—" There it was, he could hear the small grin in her voice. "Now maybe it's because you're already in the building?"

The tracker in his own suit—which was safely tucked into a titanium ring on his right finger—betraying him. Savitar headed for the line near the counter and switched off the comms without saying goodbye. He'd get the coffee this _once_ , but he was no one's errand boy. Barry Allen did his friends favors. He wasn't Barry Allen anymore. Just because he didn't have the excuse of scars to avoid public meeting places didn't mean he wanted to go flaunting his new look every chance he got. He'd be in and out. Maybe not as quickly as he would have been before the transmogrifier, but if he was going to wait for the milk to steam, he might as well do the whole thing domestic-style.

It had now been roughly a month and two and a half weeks in Earth-66. Every other day, he was on the news. He was Central City's top story, their go-to when there was nothing else to report. No good photos of him yet, and of course they didn't have an alias to refer to—he remained a _shadow_ or the _blur_ or the _moonlight vigilante_. Sandra Peterson had taken to calling him a guardian angel. Clearly she was some kind of blogger mom. Luckily Caitlin hadn't yet tried using any of these titles when she spoke to him. Could be that she knew how it grated on him, hearing so many names that didn't fit him.

Even his own name didn't work anymore. _Savitar_. He wasn't the God of Speed now. He was just a speedster, one in a multiverse of speedsters—worse, he was a _copy_ of a single speedster. And he'd been defeated by said speedster, and then dumped in a parallel Earth to live out the rest of his days. Maybe _the shadow_ did him justice after all. That was all he really was, these days, a shadow of Barry Allen.

He didn't have a regular job, he only had maybe three different outfits—and they all looked alike, black and simple—one pair of shoes, and only one friend. If he could call her his friend. She'd made sure he knew he was hers, but could he admit it himself? Could he admit he had someone by his side, after everyone who had deserted him, everything he'd lost? It was dangerous. He wasn't opposed to danger—he'd _become_ danger. He got off on danger. But this was the one risk he hadn't decided to take yet. On the fence. It was bad enough he'd made an admission of care.

He was waiting for the drink when someone brushed past him. Savitar spared Wally only a glance before just as quickly turning his back to the kid. He didn't want to be recognized, he didn't want more conversation. He was already pushing it, getting coffee for someone else.

Wally slid into a booth behind Savitar, and the speedster tilted his head, catching the greeting the boy threw to whoever he was joining. "Hey, dude, sorry I'm late. There's like nowhere to park out there."

"Yeah, everybody's trying to get to work. You'd've been better off running," came a hoarse, familiar voice.

 _Eddie_ , Savitar realized, not turning around to make sure. He'd know that tone anywhere. Back when he'd been Barry—or not—basically he had the _memory_ of Barry's nightmares, and Eddie was in every single one of them, blood staining his chest, red lightning everywhere.

"I'm not much of a runner," Wally chortled.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Savitar watched a barista stir milk into Caitlin's tea behind the counter, waiting for more to listen to. Eddie Thawne and Wally West, having a coffee get-together. He'd wager it wasn't too different from the way Stein and Caitlin met here, though there was significantly less science involved. Still—what were the odds?

"I don't have much time before I'm due at the station," Eddie admitted. "But I do wanna say I haven't stopped looking, Wally."

There was the sound of shuffling, and Wally stammered out, "Oh—no—no, I-I know, man, I didn't think—"

"Look, I know it's been… _two years_ , and I've got nothing to show for it, but I promised you I was gonna catch him and that's what I'll do."

Savitar shifted a bit as the barista handed him Caitlin's tea, catching a glimpse of the two behind him. Wally's shoulders were hunched, and Eddie was tense where he sat, trying to look the younger man in the eye.

"You ever think…" Wally paused, swallowing. "You ever think maybe we should call it quits, Eddie?"

Eddie's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I mean—I believe you. Okay? You know I believe you." Wally held up both palms, and his tone reminded Savitar so much of Joe it was almost painful. "But like you said—it's been two years. If we haven't proved it by now…"

"We can't give up. I got so close." Eddie's voice grew tight in frustration. "I almost had him." He ran a hand through sandy hair. "And then—" He sighed. "That…super-speed guy just— _took over_." He let his hand fall back onto the table. "Now he's gone."

Savitar stood motionless near the counter, rooted to the spot, straining to hear. The two men at the table were engrossed; Wally wouldn't recognize him even if he did glance over. He was too preoccupied, too emotionally invested, in whatever it was they were discussing. _Super-speed guy_. He wanted a name, but that was definitely not on the list.

Apparently, apprehending Mick Rory had ruined something a little deeper for Eddie, and now, by extension, Wally. Savitar's gaze drifted to the floor, mulling it over. Did he care? He'd stopped the bad guy. At the time, even _that_ had been out of his way. Unnecessary. He didn't _need_ to play the hero that day. He'd saved Thawne's life. Eddie should be thankful, but instead he was complaining.

Wally brightened. Savitar saw him straighten up.

Eddie noticed the sudden movement, jolting a little. "What is it?"

"I know that guy," Wally murmured, so that Savitar had to back up a step to hear them. "With the speed. I told you, he got me out of the EXPO."

Eddie leaned forward. "Hang on." His eyebrows shot up. "Are you telling me you know where he is?"

"No—I mean, I know where he _works_ ," Wally assured him, even more quietly. "Sorta. Kind of like his headquarters, I think. I've been there, that's where they patched me up."

Savitar stiffened.

"I met him, remember?" West's voice was getting too excited, rising.

"You said he sent you away," Eddie reminded him dubiously.

"But he's got a friend—like an assistant or something— _she'd_ help us. If I could talk to her—"

"Maybe she could give us some info on where Rory is," Eddie finished for him, sitting back again.

There was a moment of thick silence. Savitar had been on the receiving end of that silence in the Cortex on Earth-1 many times. Or— _Barry_ had. It was a thinking silence, the kind where each mind was so lost in itself that mouths and audio were forgotten.

"We gotta try." Wally reached for his coat. "I'm telling you, if there's anybody here who can help, it's those two. It's like I said the other night. They want…more. They wanna be more, do something to make stuff better."

"Let's hope that's enough," Eddie muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.

The tea was too hot against Savitar's hand. He moved for the door, not bothering to glance back at the table and see what they were doing now. He'd heard enough. And he'd wasted too much time here already. Whatever Eddie and Wally were going through, it wasn't anything to do with him—he'd just gotten caught in the crossfire when it came to their mutual metahuman criminal issue. If Wally was headed for S.T.A.R Labs soon, that was barely a glitch in Savitar's system. It wouldn't take much to send him packing.

Jitters was too warm and the smell of baked goods was too strong. Outside was too cold and too loud. Time to go back to headquarters.

* * *

If there was one thing to put him in a good mood here, on this Earth, with nothing but a suit and a temporary nursemaid, it was the mercy of _this_ Cortex smelling different than the original did. This Cortex smelled like cleaning supplies, mostly, and dust. Better than the last one any day. Here, he didn't have to close his eyes and see faces from 2024 dismissing him. Here, he didn't have to watch them all go to work around him, barely looking at him. On Earth-1, after he'd agreed to their help, the most in the way of acknowledgement he got was a rousing spat with Ramon, who never knew when it was time to shut up. Here, he didn't feel attacked from all angles.

And there was also Caitlin. Seeing the back of her caramel-colored curls in the corner, doing calculations on Nimbus' gas sample, made the room a little less dark around the edges. And there was a hint of her flowery hand sanitizer to add to the usual scent of the Cortex. Even more different than Earth-1's. This was definitely as close to a good mood as he was going to get.

She didn't hear him come in, either because she was so caught up in her work or because he hadn't flashed into the room. He took this opportunity to calmly stroll up behind her, walking on the balls of his feet. He glanced over her shoulder, examining the tests and theories she was working out. It wasn't so much like reading Greek to him as it might have been to other people; he was a scientist too—remembered being one, anyway—but his lack of interest in the content soon overtook him, and he went from skimming to ignoring in the same breath.

Caitlin was biting her bottom lip. She was bent low over the pages, goggles around her neck (clearly she'd been doing some experimenting) and her eyebrows were puckered. Deep in thought. Every movement was so familiar to him—every gesture, every expression. He knew what she was thinking most of the time. Why she would act a certain way, what her favorite dessert was, what haunted her nightmares. It was irreversibly _sour_ , knowing her as Barry knew her and knowing, too, that she didn't seem to understand that he did.

He'd been watching her for too long.

Savitar reached around her left shoulder and knocked on the tabletop.

Caitlin practically fell out of her chair. She whipped around, elbow colliding with his arm, and her tea flew from his hand. It happened in slow motion for Savitar; he used his speed and caught it, midair, before a drop could leave the cup.

"You're back," she stammered. Caitlin had turned in her seat to face him, and he stood towering over her now.

Savitar raised his eyebrows. "For ten minutes," he agreed. "You know, if I wanted to go unnoticed, I'd've stayed in the Speed Force." He set her tea down, creating a ring on the paper from the slightly-damp cup. Surviving a collision was one thing; the run back to S.T.A.R. Labs with it in his hand was another.

"Sorry," she muttered, giving him a look that said he was picking a fight. She wasn't wrong. "I've been trying to finish these all morning. It's been tunnel-vision for me since I got up."

Savitar leaned against the table, looking her over. "You're tired."

Caitlin huffed. "No. Why do you keep doing that?"

"Talking?" Savitar's eyebrows shot even higher. "You're right, what was I thinking?

Her nose wrinkled. "Telling me when I'm tired. _You_ don't tell me I'm tired," she muttered. "I'm not—I'm just…" She flung an arm up. "Frustrated."

Savitar grunted. "Need a break?"

"No, I do not need a break." Caitlin reached for her pen grumpily, turning back to the table. "I _need_ to get this sample fully analyzed so Professor Stein and I can start work on curing his bedridden wife."

The pen was in his hands before she'd finished.

"I also need that," she added in a very controlled voice.

Savitar flipped the pen between each finger, glancing down at her. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is this distracting you?"

She made an odd face then. Something between a scowl and a sneer, with a nose-wrinkle of confusion mixed in. "It's _delaying_ me."

"You're tired."

"I'm _fine_." Caitlin held out her hand. "I need my pen back, please."

Savitar held it at arms' length—in the opposite direction. "You remember nagging and nagging me to sleep, right?"

Caitlin folded her arms, and she probably would have tapped her toe, too, if it hadn't gone out of style ages ago. She pursed her lips and settled for, "I remember repeating myself because you don't listen to reason."

Savitar tilted his head. "I'm just returning the favor."

"Okay, this is ridiculous." She stood up. "This isn't one friend convincing the other friend to get some rest, this is you throwing a small tantrum because I'm not paying you any attention." She glanced at the papers. "Because I have to get this done."

Savitar leaned further away. "You think I want your attention, Doctor Snow?"

Caitlin closed her mouth for a moment, as if thinking of how to respond to that. She seemed to settle for dignified silence, because she stood stiff as a board and waited for him to make the next move, still reaching out an expectant hand for the pen. He almost smirked at her, but there wasn't enough mirth in him for it. It was nice to get on her nerves again, though.

He passed it to her. "Maybe sugar will keep you awake."

Then he set down the grocery bag in his left hand. She hadn't mentioned it; probably hadn't seen it until now. It sat there on the table, and Caitlin glanced at the plastic, now tired, frustrated, _and_ at a loss. She reached in and pulled out the box of Mayfield ice cream sandwiches.

Caitlin stared at the red word _strawberry_ on the box, uncomprehending. Then she glanced up at him, eyes wide. "It's October 10th."

"Yes it is." He was already moving out of the room, heading for his own quarters.

"Where are you going?" Caitlin called. He heard her push her chair back to stand again. "I can't eat them all by myself."

Savitar turned as she clicked after him in her heels, holding the box. She pulled an ice cream sandwich out and offered it to him, brown eyes soft. His gaze flicked from her to the treat, calculating. A writhing scribble-ball of frustration formed, and he wasn't sure why it was there, but he relished it.

"Not my tradition," Savitar held up his palms.

Caitlin's eyebrows came together. "Why did you buy them, then?"

His eyes rolled around so that he was looking sideways, avoiding her expression. "You need them."

A little laugh escaped her. "I don't need ice cream sandwiches."

Clearly she didn't understand. His tone suggested she wasn't all that bright as he explained, "Barry's gonna call you later. He gets off work at—" he pretended to check a watch he didn't have. "—oh, 12:25. There's nothing Singh can tell him to do that he can't get done like _that_." He snapped his fingers. "Then he'll pick up his own little box and he and Ramon will give you a nice, long Skype call and you'll all sit and eat together, just like old times." He nodded to the box in her hands. "You need them for that."

"Yes, you know us. You know us inside and out. I get it." Her mouth tightened a little more with each syllable. He noticed her nails digging a little into the wrapping. "I know you weren't actually there when— _Barry_ brought these home the first time, but that doesn't mean you can't eat at least one." She extended the sandwich again, trying a smile. "I am including you in this year's version."

He chortled. "No thanks."

Caitlin shifted her weight to one hip, indignant. "You want me to eat all ten of these on my own?"

"I don't really care _what_ you do." Savitar shrugged with his hands inside his pockets. "I just thought it'd be awkward if you forgot."

Caitlin set the box down on the white winding desk. "If you don't eat one, I don't eat one."

Exasperated, Savitar turned to look down at her. "Why?"

"Because." She hesitated for a moment, thinking, calculating, trying to figure out how to continue. He could tell by the way she gripped the cuffs of her lab coat, bouncing almost imperceptibly where she stood. Finally, she went on, "You should be included."

No thank you. "I don't need your bleeding heart, Caitlin."

"Oh, grow up and listen to me for once," Caitlin snapped. "I'm not—doing this out of _pity_. Even something as silly as eating ice cream in freezing weather is important for…people like us. When you've been through as much as we have. You _know_ that's why Barry shared. That's why Barry does anything like that—because when the whole world is going insane around us, when we lose to impossible things, we have each other, and…he took every opportunity to remind us. Remind me." She folded her arms and looked him in the eyes. "And now I'm reminding you. You and I are a team here. Whether I'm eating an ice cream sandwich or tracking a meta, it feels wrong to do it without you." She grinned. "We may not be _Team Flash_ or anything, but we're still in this together."

Savitar felt the lights in the room pulsing down on them. He wasn't sure why he was noticing how bright it was just now—but the shadows seemed slimmer suddenly and the Cortex warmer. _You and I are a team_. She didn't say it flippantly, but it was definitely casual. Genuine, normal. How long had it been since he'd had a team? Scratch that. He'd technically _never_ had a team. Did two people still count? It didn't matter, because she was grabbing his hand and forcing the stupid ice cream into it, looking up at him with that age old _you-will-obey-your-physician_ steel in her eyes.

Strangely enough, he couldn't feel the cold against his hand when he took it. Not taking his eyes off her, he unwrapped it, exhaling in submission.

Caitlin, beaming, bit into her own sandwich, brushing a bit of chocolate out of the corner of her mouth. Savitar glanced down at the food in his hands, examining it rather than eating it. Forget a team—how long had it been since he'd had ice cream? And how was he supposed to stick to his guns when she was grinning like that? Finally, he took a small bite, swallowing gingerly. Caitlin went back to her desk, and he took a seat by the white winding desk, the two of them eating in companionable silence for a while.

Then:

"I'm not Skyping anyone."

"I know."


	26. Chapter 26: Cries For Help

Caitlin had watched her father die.

It had happened slowly, due to multiple sclerosis. She'd watched him struggle every day for years through his condition, watched her mother fight and fight and fight to keep him going, to make him well again. Young Caitlin had been left in the dust, in the corner, in the shadows, as Mrs. Snow ate up every second of their lives searching for a way to fix Mr. Snow. At the time, Caitlin had dismissed the neglect, focusing only on her daddy and what it would take to make things normal again, but after a while life became lonely. Her father was too ill to play with her the way he had before—his muscles weren't the way they used to be, her mother had explained.

Though being ignored for so long in the wake of the tragedy had estranged Caitlin from her mother, getting older, she could better understand the weight Mrs. Snow had had to carry for so long. Caitlin had experienced that weight briefly, when they'd been trying to discover a way to keep Ronnie separated from Stein on Earth-1, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever have the same man as her fiancé again. Then she'd gotten the full effect of what her mother had suffered—she'd lost him, and the pain was enough to keep her locked away from her loved ones forever. She couldn't be angry with her mother anymore, even if she knew some of that hurt would never go away. Because now she knew what it was like, to an extent.

Maybe that was why she was so devoted to helping Professor Stein save his wife. Caitlin had seen firsthand what it was like to fight to keep someone with you, how fragile the hope of making things right again really was. If she had the ability, the resources, to help keep Clarissa alive, how could she pass up the opportunity? How could she leave Stein to work it out for himself? Never mind the fact that she had known him on a parallel Earth; attachment or not, she wouldn't have been able to stand by and leave well enough alone. She could help. So—she would help.

And they were so _close_!

She'd analyzed the gas sample as thoroughly as humanly possible—no thanks to Savitar, of course, whose missions and measuring looks from across the room did nothing but interrupt her, or at least cause her to lose focus. Nimbus' DNA here, the components of his 'mist', were not unlike that of his Earth-1 counterpart's. She'd conducted every test possible, and now that they had the general code to the gas' makeup itself, they could begin work on a cure—another code, a new one, that would fight and defeat the gas'. Nothing like a pill, she'd decided—maybe a liquid, a serum. But she'd need Stein's opinion first.

Caitlin was on her way out of S.T.A.R Labs, headed to the bus stop outside the parking lot, to meet the good Professor. But as soon as she turned the corner, seeing the street a few yards away, she spied someone else in the lot—someone familiar, heading straight for her.

"Wally?" Caitlin stopped in surprise, fumbling with her bag.

Wally reached her, breathing hard. "Hey."

 _Hey_? The last time he'd been near this facility, it was because a man with flames for limbs had made him look like fresh bacon. The only reason he knew _her_ was because she'd used her unstable winter superpowers to heal him, and to his knowledge it must have been on a whim, because this Earth's Wally had never encountered a Caitlin Snow before. And to top it all off, Central City's mystery hero himself had kicked the poor boy off these grounds upon recovery. _Hey_ was kind of informal and alien when you rolled all of that together, looking at him.

"What—what are you doing here?" Caitlin stooped a little to level with him; he was bent over, catching his breath. Clearly he'd been running not moments before. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Nah, I'm good, I'm fine," Wally panted, straightening. His brown eyes searched hers, and she saw something like desperation in them. He shifted, a bit awkward, hands in the pockets of his pale red hoodie. "Sorry. It's not like I'm outta shape or anything, but uh…" He jabbed a thumb backward, indicating the long distance he'd crossed. "Running—I'm not the best runner."

Caitlin nodded, slightly impatient. Her intrigue over Wally was minimal compared to the Stein problem. And she would be late. "But—I don't understand, what…"

"I need your help," Wally explained quickly. He looked past her, over her shoulder, toward the double-doors into the lobby. "Where's, where's the shadow—the guy, your friend? We have—"

He took a few steps toward the building, clearly under the impression she was going to follow him, but she slid into his path, eyes wide and maternally stern.

"Nooo, no no, you cannot go inside," Caitlin reprimanded gingerly, startled. Savitar was still asleep when she left, and for all she knew he was strolling through the corridors now, wide awake and not expecting visitors in his civilian attire.

Wally stopped short. "But—I need him, I need both of you guys." He smiled a little, as if to diffuse the tension, but of course it didn't do much. "Look, it's…" He licked his lips, hesitating, thinking something over. Finally, he seemed to throw caution and pleasantries to the wind and rushed out, "It's about Mick Rory."

He fished his wallet from his back pocket, rummaging through and offering a blurry photograph between two fingers. Caitlin took it and squinted. It was difficult to make out, and if she hadn't seen him in person she might not have recognized the pyro. She glanced back up at West, who was watching her the way a dog might watch you while you ate. What on earth did _Wally_ have to do with Heat Wave?

 _Of course_. Caitlin nearly clicked her tongue aloud, chastising herself mentally for being so slow on the uptake. "Wally," she murmured, fighting to keep the familiarity, the _worried aunt type_ , from her tone, "he can't hurt you anymore. He's long gone, the chances of Mick Rory coming after you again—"

Wally rocked a little on the balls of his feet. "No—Caitlin—I'm not worried about that, okay?"

Caitlin's nose wrinkled, tighter than usual. Completely blank now.

Wally looked at the Labs' roof, the gravel beneath them, anything. "Listen, I know you and him don't owe me anything. I mean, if it wasn't for you—I don't know where I'd be right now. Probably dead, right?"

Caitlin tilted her head, making a face, unwilling to confirm it.

Encouraged by her demeanor, Wally chortled a bit. "Yeah—I shouldn't need anything else, but…it's something to do with my dad." In that second, he looked younger than Caitlin had ever seen him, even on Earth-1.

The air seemed a lot colder suddenly. Images of Joe West and his kind eyes and bear hugs and coffee smell and fatherly baritone zipped through Caitlin's mind, and she wanted to shake Wally to make him go faster as he began to explain. She couldn't outright ask, _Is Joe still alive in this universe_ , could she? He was awkward at first, but the more he spoke, the more passionate he became.

"My dad's a police officer."

Caitlin made a valiant effort to appear surprised, or at least interested, as if this were news to her.

Wally gestured aimlessly with both hands, sometimes fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. "Dad and his partner were investigating a tip the station got, something about a crime family—they weren't s'posed to be there, it was gonna just be the chief, but Dad didn't want him to go alone…"

He sounded as if he'd told this story over and over, as if he knew it by heart. Caitlin got the feeling she was getting a condensed version; he was speaking as if in a hurry to make her understand, in a hurry to move on. He even rocked back and forth on his heels a few times, the picture of nerves.

"Dad's partner saw the whole thing. The chief was shot right in front of him—by Rory." Wally finally took a breath between words, and his eyebrows knit together. "He used my dad's gun, he framed him, and…nobody saw it but Eddie." He looked up quickly, explaining as an afterthought, "That's his partner, friend of the family. But see—Eddie can't prove it."

Caitlin had no trouble keeping up with Wally's story, relieved to find that Eddie's and Joe's history here didn't seem very different from the ones they had on her Earth. She felt a familiar clenching in her chest when she heard the word _framed_. "Why not?" she asked gently.

"Because nobody else was there," Wally sighed. "Just him. It's—it's his word against the evidence. It was _my dad's_ gun—Eddie says Rory wore gloves, so guess whose fingerprints they found? A-And—and he had motive, that's what they said, and now…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, a trait Caitlin's Wally had never once exhibited, and her eyes followed the movement in fascination. "Anyway. He's in prison because of Rory, because of the _same_ guy that toasted me at the EXPO. I mean," he let out a little breathy laugh, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Like I didn't hate him enough before, right? And now—"

"Wait," Caitlin held up both hands to still him. "What do you mean, he had _motive_?"

Wally licked his lips, looking away for a second. The silence grew thick, and he broke it after a moment by saying, a little more slowly, a little quieter, "We need your help. Yours and—the—your friend's. You guys were there when Rory got me at the EXPO." An older look flashed across his expression, almost a stern one, one that warned her, nearly begged her, not to avoid answering him as he finished, "You gotta know where he is, you can't tell me you're not after him too. Eddie said he saw him at the bank, but your shadow guy got in the middle of it and stopped him." He let out a long breath. "Please. You're…the only ones I can think of to help us break this thing open. I _know_ my dad did not kill Chief Singh."

Caitlin stared at him, listening to the cars on the highway, distracted by how cold her nose and nails had become, standing out here motionless for this long. How could she refuse him? How could she tell him, _sorry, we can't help you, there's just too much you shouldn't know_? It wasn't fair. It wasn't even _logical_. Wasn't he one of her top choices in a team for Savitar? An engineer, a familiar face? Trustworthy, eager? She couldn't keep him in the dark anymore. Not fully, anyway. Not after this. Caitlin Snow knew what it was like to live without a father. If Joe West was locked up for a crime he didn't commit, and there was something she could do to help him, to help Wally, foreign Earth or not, there shouldn't have been anything stopping her. She had the means. What else did she need?

So she met his desperate gaze and said, "Come on. Let's see what we can do."

Caitlin shot a quick text to Stein that they'd need to reschedule by a few hours, and Wally followed her into S.T.A.R. Labs at a near bounce.

* * *

She was telling him about the Pipeline—about where they'd last seen Rory—when the monitors beeped, and Caitlin jumped a little.

The speedster was not in the building any longer. Somewhere between her breakfast and meeting West outside, he'd gone for a run. At least, that was what the scanners stated.

Wally was leaning against the white winding desk, hanging on her every word, wearing the same huge, warm look that had splashed into his brown eyes since she'd agreed to help him an hour ago. She'd been doing some explaining of her own. In order for them to catch Rory, they had to understand what made him more dangerous than your average criminal, she'd proposed. So she began explaining metahumans to him—as if she needed to; he knew about superhuman abilities. Being burned by one meta and rescued by another gave one basically all the knowledge one required. But Caitlin could never resist a scientific debriefing, and Wally did look more interested than, say, any of Professor Stein's students when she described the particle accelerator's effects on the human code. Wally knew Rory could literally _become_ fire (partially, anyway), but not how, or that it was containable. Which, Caitlin reasoned, would be important information if they wanted to see him behind bars again any time soon—or in this case, glass. And a huge, titanium door bowing beneath a palm scan.

She'd almost finished, fielding his question about Heat Wave's ability to breathe fire without ruining his lungs and other various innards, but the beeping on the monitors startled them both into a brief silence.

Caitlin darted for the trackpad. The comms system told her that Savitar had tried to call her half an hour ago, but she'd been so busy wrapped up in Wally's predicament, she hadn't noticed. To be fair, they hadn't been in the Cortex the entire time—Wally had gotten sidetracked on the way in by the engineer's wing.

And the suit's tracker said Savitar was entering S.T.A.R. Labs now. Caitlin glanced at Wally, who had come up behind her curiously. "He's back," she explained, biting her lip.

Wally's posture immediately improved; his hands came out of his pockets and his eyes glittered with sudden excitement. "The shadow?"

"That's technically not his name," Caitlin began fussily, making her way to the exit. "But yes. You—" She whipped around, holding out a hand as he started after her. "—stay here. Please. It's just—I-I need to explain to him first." She cleared her throat. "The two of you didn't exactly part on good terms last time you were here."

Wally practically flushed at the memory. "Yeah—uh—I know. But I figured…I mean, I should probably be the one to tell him what's goin' on, right?" His eyebrows rose hopefully. "Just cuz…it's my case and all. You know. My dad?"

Caitlin saw right through the poor boy. He wanted more face time with his idol. Yes, it was his case, his father, and ultimately his tell, but he simply didn't understand Savitar. He couldn't know what Savitar saw when he looked at Wally, why he sent him away the first time.

"I'm sorry, Wally," Caitlin murmured. "But it needs to come from me. He's…he's not used to everyone else—yet."

Confusion swallowed West's expression, but he nodded, still warm in the eyes, and sat conformingly in one of the chairs behind the desk, spinning in it a little. Caitlin gave him a sympathetic smile and quickly moved into the corridors. Savitar could come flashing to the Cortex any minute, and she meant to reach him before that happened.

She found Savitar in the med bay, more due to the noise than her intuition—she'd tried his room first, but the racket coming from the opposite direction told her exactly where he was.

The speedster was rummaging through the room, a blur, but Caitlin could tell he was still in his suit.

Before she could begin with Wally, she found herself asking, "What are you doing?"

Savitar stilled long enough for her to actually see him. "Looking for ice."

Caitlin's head titled so that her hair swung a bit against her cheek, eyebrows pinched. "For what?"

He took off the suit's hood, and his hair was slightly messy in the aftermath. Savitar turned to her, and his right eye was squinting slightly—it made him look a little off-kilter, but otherwise he seemed fine.

"I don't know, Caitlin, for what?" He exhaled sarcastically, gesturing with a palm to his face.

Caitlin gave him another once-over. Black-and-yellow hero suit, a little beat-up, tangled—slightly-sweaty—dark hair, mismatched gaze. Average posture, he wasn't favoring either leg more than the other, his arms hung loose and intact at his sides. Nothing. "Okay, you are going to need to be a little more specific—"

Again, more air hissed out of him, very quickly. He pointed to the squinting right eyeball, jaw set in annoyance. "Black eye."

"Black eye?" Her voice rose a little, frustrated. There was no black eye.

"I don't have time for this." Savitar muttered it under his breath, turning back to one of the tables, shoving aside a small case holding dusty medical tools.

"Savitar—"

He turned back around, jerkily. "Are you saying I don't have a black eye right now?"

Caitlin's eyebrows shot up. "No, you don't."

Savitar's expression and posture didn't change; it was the only sign she'd ever seen him give that he was confused. Nothing else showed it. Barry didn't freeze when he was confused, his eyes got wider, his brows dipped. Sometimes he pressed a fist to his mouth. Savitar was doing none of this, he was just standing there looking at her, still squinting one of his eyes. The quiet for those few seconds was almost comical; they stared at each other, equally bewildered.

"What makes you think you have a black eye?" Caitlin broke in.

The left-hand corner of his mouth twitched up, telling her he was exasperatedly amused by the question. "Pretty sure I can _feel_ it when the socket of my one good eye is bruised." He showed her his palms, though they were still at his sides. "But hey, I'm no expert."

Something in Caitlin's brain clicked then. _One good eye_. To her, just now, his face was completely normal—Barry's face, with different-colored irises, one green, one blue. But that wasn't really the case. She had to be sure, though.

She walked up to him, torso ducking a little, to look straight up at his eyes, examining them. "The right one?"

"What?"

"This one?" She reached up and put a hand just below the eye she meant.

He moved backward as if she'd slapped him, back hitting the counter behind them, and the clanging of several instruments being jostled seemed to agitate him further. "Yes," he confirmed. His right arm was dropping back down, she noticed, and Caitlin wondered if he'd nearly used some of those superhuman reflexes to bat her hand away—another sign. Cornered animal again.

"Wait." Caitlin grabbed his hand—the leather glove was cold—and pulled off his costume's ring, pressing the little stud on the side. This allowed his chemically-compressed civilian clothes to shoot out and inflate back to their normal size.

She picked up his black jacket and felt around the pockets until she found what she was looking for.

"Here—" Before he could do anything, Caitlin used H.R.'s Cisco-ed transmogrifier on his face.

Blue light zapped between them, and when it died away, Savitar's scars and milky eye had returned. He watched her sharply, expectantly, and she would have bet money he was waiting for her to flinch or look away, maybe back up—any sign of discomfort. But she was surprised to find that she was used to it by now. To both versions of his face.

There was one new detail, however. His right eye was definitely beginning to develop a purplish-pink mask, the skin around it tender and rankled.

"Ooh," Caitlin winced for him, showing her teeth for a moment. "You were right."

"Great." Savitar snorted lightly, a tiny smile gracing his features.

The smile made Caitlin a little less on edge, and the frustration of all this shiner confusion went out of her at the sight of it. "Let's get you some ice."

"Genius, Caitlin," Savitar croaked. "Why didn't I think of that."

She could feel him watching her as she went right to a little cooler in the corner, pulling out a ready-made bag of ice. She'd filled it out of habit last Wednesday, and could admit to being a little startled when she'd first opened it—she wasn't used to a dusty, completely-empty cooler in her med bay. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time Earth-1's had been low on ice. Just a little reminder that this wasn't truly home. Not even the cooler really belonged to her.

Savitar grunted. "Why do you need that?"

"The ice?" Was he being serious? Caitlin paused, then looked at him and deliberately squinted just her right eye, pointing to it. "I thought you could _feel_ it when the socket of your—"

He was shaking his head a bit before she'd finished, and interrupted without raising his voice, "The cooler, why do you need the cooler?" He took the ice from her and held it unflinchingly to his eye. Her nose wrinkled and his gaze fixed on it.

"What do you mean?"

He used his left hand to grab hers, holding it up to her line of vision. "If you want ice, you can make ice. If you want to keep it cold, you don't need a cooler."

She pulled her hand away, the comfort his little smile had brought disintegrating. "No."

He tilted his head against his right shoulder, pulling the ice away but keeping that eye closed. Watching her.

"I can't use my powers," Caitlin murmured. "And you know that. I told you to stop trying."

Savitar clicked his tongue, a sort of _aww_ gesture, but devoid of actual sympathy. The way he was looking at her wasn't just searching—it was sort of like he was hungry, like he was looking for something he was pretty sure she had and was being deprived of. Thirsty and she was hiding a water bottle behind her back.

Caitlin fought to control the temper rising within her. She'd thought they were becoming friends—they _were_ friends, a team—but friends should know when to quit. When to stop if the other person wasn't enjoying the joke. He had Barry's memories. He knew what she was afraid of, he knew how against her abilities she actually was, and he still pushed her. The original Flash's anger when she'd visited Earth-1 was infecting her now—a kind of _how could he?_ feeling.

"With your accelerated healing properties, that eye should be gone by tomorrow morning." She turned around to close the cooler, now that he had his ice.

"You're not cursed either, Caitlin."

 _Why_ did he have to have the voice of her friend? Her back was turned; her subconscious could barely tell the difference when he spoke like that. Almost kindly.

"Don't do that, please," Caitlin said stiffly, not turning around.

"What?" It came out raspy and quiet—confused?

"Don't try to sound like Barry." She held up a hand, just a little, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

The shadow that passed over his expression was a familiar one. He had been sitting on the counter; he slid off of it now, setting the ice down fully, letting go of the bag and leaving it on the counter.

"I guess you want me to stop breathing, too, huh?" Savitar suggested, in an almost helpful tone, practically whispering, but the way he rushed it betrayed his irritation. "Or how bout I stop running? Does that sound good?"

" _What_?" she practically spat the word, actually angry now. Sometimes his satire was a bit much.

With a smack and a rattle, he snatched the transmogrifier off of the counter and flicked it on. Blue, then his face was unscarred, no black eye, clear of any injury and full of Barry.

"I _can't_ not sound like Barry, Caitlin," he hissed, leaning closer. His voice rose a bit as he went on, "I'm sorry, but I can't. You're just gonna have to deal with it, because I can't turn it off. I know we don't use this word a whole lot, but it's _kind_ _of_ impossible. For me." There was a dangerous kind of frustration in the way he spoke. "Okay?"

Caitlin met his gaze defiantly for a moment, then took a step backward. The anger drained away. Maybe it was his one green eye—but she was trained on the blue one. No. She was being childish, simple. She'd asked him not to use _his_ voice. How was he supposed to do that? And this time—this time he hadn't been antagonizing her. He'd sounded like Barry because he was trying to help. Barry was always helping. And she'd actually picked up a needle and stuck him with it in response. That wasn't exactly progress.

Before she could apologize, she caught sight of the bag of ice over his shoulder. "You left it in front of the heater."

Savitar followed her gaze. He had indeed set his bag of ice down in front of the small, high-powered heater attached to the wall above the counter. It was pumping hot air into the room, of course, due to the climate outside, and Caitlin liked to keep the med bay the most comfortable temperature she could in case of emergency treatments or long stays.

Now the bag of ice was a little bag of water.

Savitar didn't seem to care much about this, and turned back to her, probably to continue their argument. He stopped short when he saw her dampening necklace in one hand, the other hand conjuring a small block of ice, roughly the size of a fist. She snapped open a new plastic bag and dumped the block in, eyes glowing crystal white, just for a moment.

Caitlin felt Killer Frost in her outline, in her lungs, but this was only for a second. A second. _One, two, three…four…five…_ She fastened the necklace, taking comfort in its chain against her neck, and the cold fled to the depths, disappearing as the pendant took effect.

"I'm not cursed," she said, relieved to hear her own voice echoing back at her, not Frost's. She handed him the bag. "But it's not a gift yet either. Not in my case."

He was looking at her eyes, and she couldn't tell if he wanted them to revert to white or if he liked the brown. His expression was closed.

Then he smiled again. It wasn't for too long, but it was bigger than the last one, and though his sleepy eyelids made it look a little halfhearted, she could see in his relaxed shoulders that it was genuine.

"Thanks for the ice," he said quietly.

"You are welcome."

There was a moment of comfortable silence. Caitlin cleared her throat. She couldn't hope for a better chance now. "That's not what I came in here for, actually. There's—something you need to know…"

She led the way to a wall monitor. Savitar watched from over her shoulder as she tapped in the necessary keys, showing him the security feed.

"Wally's back."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: A little earlier than Monday this time! Whew! If you liked the chapter, tell me why, guys! The reviews you Jell-O Suqares leave are the best. They keep me writing this monster. Update coming soon! ~Doverstar)**


	27. Chapter 27: Open The Floodgates

"No."

The word thunked when it hit the atmosphere, as if Savitar had dropped a bowling ball into the air. He watched Wally on the med bay's single monitor, watched Wally turning in the chair behind the white winding desk. Watched him with a look that wasn't _hate_ , exactly, Caitlin thought. Not full hatred. But there was anger in it, and there was pain, and it was raw in the center of the look, but the edges were all flint. She got the feeling she wouldn't have noticed if they hadn't made this much progress since arriving on Earth-66.

Not hate, but the way Savitar was staring at the screen—she was reminded that she wasn't the only one with ice in her veins. The speedster's eyes were every shade of cold.

"Savitar—"

"I'll be right back." His voice was careless. He tossed the back of ice onto the examination table, flipped the hood of his suit back up, and made for the door.

But Caitlin grabbed his arm to prevent him from flashing out of the room. "I _know_ you don't want him here—"

"Oh!" Savitar stopped as soon as she touched him.

For a moment she held out hope he was willing to listen, and the sensation of being touched couldn't have hurt her chances. She could always count on basic biology—Savitar remained touch- _starved_ , thus physical contact would almost always be in her favor.

Unfortunately, his tone was rankled yellow with sarcasm, and he went on, pulling away from her, "Oh, you _know_! You _know_ ," he glanced at the screen, "but he's in here anyway?" He folded his arms, leaning his head down, eyebrows pinched. "How, uh, how does that work, Caitlin?" He showed a palm, feigning ignorance. "Did he sneak in the back door?"

"It just—"

"Ah," Savitar bounced a fist against his own forehead, pretending to chide himself. "We don't _have_ a back door! Maybe he snuck in through the front?"

His satire set her teeth on edge. "Savitar."

"Nah, you're right," The speedster let an arm flip up and slap back down. "Palm scan. So what happened, Doctor Snow?" Finally, the game was dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at her. The right one was still squinting a little tighter than the left. "I mean, it's not like you went behind your _teammate's_ back and invited the guy in, with your little Team Flash-66 agenda, right? Because I just got this _really_ great fantasy of speeding him all the way to Starling City, and chaining him to a telephone pole." His eyebrows shot up. His voice had dropped to a near whisper. "One of us is about to be disappointed."

She hadn't heard that much danger in his every syllable since the early days. Caitlin's fingers curled into her palms; she took a nice long, slow breath. She had to give him the right response. She couldn't rise to his anger and match it. Even if she didn't understand why he was so against this—for Wally's sake, for Earth-66's Joe West, she had to curb her own temper, her own argumentative tendencies. Time to appeal to the sliver of light she knew was buried good and deep in Barry's time remnant.

"You want to be a hero, don't you?" Caitlin replied carefully.

Savitar didn't move. It was like she was talking to a plant. Even his eyes were still.

"Down that hall is someone who specifically asked me for your help." She shifted her weight, controlling her tone. "That's why he's here. Now, I don't know about your—history—with the other Wally. But that is _not_ him." She pointed to the screen. "This one needs you."

"Caitlin." Savitar took a step nearer to her, commanding her full attention. He took the hood back down so that she could see his face more clearly. He spoke the next three words very slowly. "I don't care."

The air slid out of her. _One. Two. Three. Four._ "Why not?" She honestly couldn't understand it. The memories he owned, the face he carried, _some_ part of him cared. It had to.

Savitar's gaze flicked from her left eye to her right, and there was no hint of a smirk at her frustration. He was just looking at her, thinking. Thinking of his answer.

After a moment, when one didn't come, Caitlin pleaded, "Just…hear him out. That's all I want you to do."

The tension didn't leave his shoulders, and the flint didn't go out of his eyes, but he pulled his hood back on without glancing away from her.

Suddenly his eyes drifted to the side, almost an eye-roll, but it didn't quite make it that far. Then he took her arm and sped them _both_ to the Cortex—Caitlin blinked and they were there, standing in front of Wally, her hair in her mouth. Her heart was doing the Playdough thing again, watching Savitar out of the corner of her eye as he began to vibrate— _why would he need to do that? This Wally doesn't know his face_ —and turn to the boy in the chair.

Wally's breath had definitely quickened. He swallowed and shot to his feet. "Oh, man—you're here. I mean—I know you're here, you live here, I just mean…you came."

Savitar's voice jittered up and down as he spoke, manipulating his vocal chords with his abilities. "What do you want, Wallace?"

"It's Wally," Wally swatted a hand, nerves making him rock a little where he stood. "Forget it. So I…I dunno what Caitlin already told you, but um…" He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to gather himself. "Basically, I'm not the only one Mick Rory burned."

In his shaking, rushing way, he repeated to Savitar what he'd told Caitlin. About Joe, about Singh's murder, about Rory and the gun and Eddie and everything. Savitar stood unmoved. Caitlin tried not to glance at him too often, tried not to check his expression. She listened to the story, focusing, hoping to catch any important information Wally might have left out when he'd relayed it to her, but it was much the same this time around.

When Wally reached the conclusion that Joe West was unjustly imprisoned, Caitlin saw Savitar's legs shift, as if he wanted to move backward, but didn't. His vibration paused, just for a second, and she knew he was really, really listening now.

Finally, Wally took a breath, finishing his story. He squinted at Savitar, trying very hard to see any detail, any human features, in the slight blur that was the speedster's form before him, but no luck. "I came here because we ran out of options," Wally stammered. "Me and Eddie. We been trying to find him on our own, and so far, nothing. But then you—"

He took a slight step toward Savitar, but Savitar did move back then. Caitlin watched the muscles in his arms tighten as he crossed them. On the defensive, as if Wally were the one wielding flames.

Wally, confused but on a roll, went on a little more cautiously, "You showed up. You caught him—Eddie says—"

"Did he tell you we lost him?"

 _We._ The word was the only thing keeping Caitlin from frowning at Savitar's bluntness.

Wally's mouth shut almost immediately. Then, "He—he said he was gone…" He looked from Savitar to Caitlin.

Savitar nodded, cold. "He escaped." He leaned forward. "He's not here. You wasted a trip."

But Wally wasn't giving up that easily. Caitlin felt a little jump of affection for the boy as he shook his head hard, even gesturing a little with a half-raised fist, wavering and frustrated. "Okay, so you lost him, so…" He paused, blinking. "Look, you're—you're the _fastest_ dude alive. On the news, everybody…we've all seen you. If anybody can catch him, it's you. And I know I'm not important or anything—I know you already helped me once."

Savitar's head tilted, barely noticeable. But Caitlin was watching.

Wally looked as though he were made of fresh yogurt. Take off the top and it seemed smooth on the surface, hard, but touch it—with anything—and you saw how soft it really was. He seemed to be struggling not to appear desperate, to make himself clear, but of course he couldn't help it. He couldn't keep his emotions from overwhelming him. Caitlin knew the feeling. It was one she'd fought to control for years—Wally just hadn't reached that level yet.

"But it's my _dad_ ," Wally went on, voice quiet. "Don't do it for me, okay, forget me. Do it for him. He didn't murder anybody, he's not a criminal—and he needs your help."

Savitar did not move.

Wally waited a beat, waited for any reaction, then added stiffly, "Rory's gotta be stopped either way, right?"

There was silence in the Cortex. Silence in the building. Caitlin wondered if it was this quiet outside too; it would be alien, she thought, if it weren't. Silence seemed appropriate in the wake of West's helplessness. Wally's words echoed off the walls and lingered in the shadows— _he didn't murder anybody, he's not a criminal, he needs your help_. It sounded so familiar.

She almost staggered upon realizing the comparison. Caitlin did glance sharply at Savitar this time, certain he'd made the same connection, but he had turned away from them and swung his arms slightly at his sides, gloves in fists. A foreign reaction in that body.

"If I'm gonna do this," Savitar said at last, and Caitlin felt she'd regained balance at the sound, "I need every piece of information you've got. I'm not wasting time running around the city if there are clues that'll get me to him faster." She pictured his exhausted face, the rasp in his voice, after searching for the Mist a few weeks back and quietly agreed.

Wally acted as if someone had just given him a shower for the first time. He started at Savitar's words, and relief and joy were so visibly crashing over him, Caitlin felt a smile shooting across her being just observing it.

"Thank you, _thank_ you, man—" Wally began, grinning, but Savitar was shaking his head.

"Don't," Savitar said lowly, raising a hand without turning. "Don't do that. Just go get me what I need."

Wally nodded, over and over, tossing Caitlin a crooked smile, and said hurriedly as he moved for the exit, "I will, I'll call Eddie right now. He's got it all from memory, we'll get him down here—"

"Go, Wally," Savitar snapped, and Wally's pace quickened.

A few minutes later, and the beep on the monitor informed them he'd exited S.T.A.R. Labs.

Caitlin thought that the soundlessness had reigned one time too many today. She dared to shift, then, actually move from where she'd been standing. She went up behind Savitar, slowly, the old _approach a wounded mammal_ tactic. Because she could feel tension rippling and pulsing off of him. It was in his back and his neck and his feet. It was in the way he was breathing, how quickly he stopped vibrating when Wally had turned that first corner.

"You're helping him," she breathed, unable to think past that for the moment. She tried to put gratitude into the words, but from his stance, she couldn't tell if it was received.

Savitar snorted. "I shouldn't be."

" _Why_?" Caitlin demanded, throwing out an arm. "I don't—is it just because this hits a little close to home?"

His voice rose to cover hers. " _Barry's_ dad was convicted—"

"It doesn't matter! You just told him you were going to get his father out of _prison_. How many people get that chance? Savitar?" When he didn't respond, she added, "I don't understand. Why does it make you so upset, don't you—"

He turned around too quickly, his hood flying off, but Caitlin stood her ground. "I can't do it, Caitlin. I can't. I'm not."

Caitlin, baffled, felt her mouth and her eyebrows tighten. "What?"

"You brought him here," Savitar tossed an arm toward the door. "Stein, Stein's wife, Wally, now Thawne too?" His voice dropped, sort of hushed, and the pent-up frustration in the corners of his mouth made Caitlin nearly wince. "Nobody else should _be_ here, I don't want any of them here."

"Yes, I know," Caitlin snapped, raising her voice. "I just don't see w—"

" _Why_?" Savitar mimicked her desperation seconds earlier. " _Why_ , because I don't _care_." His eyes were almost closed, but the intensity in them made them seem wider. His own tone was rising and rising, louder with every breath. "I don't care about any of it. _Any_ of them. I can't." He shook his head. His teeth were on edge, he was towering over her. Used one gloved hand to point aggressively, first at the door once more, then right at her—

"Not again, okay, I'm not _doing_ it again, I mean it's bad enough that I care this much about you!"

That last word was almost inaudible, and angry—accusatory, to the outside observer, thick with exasperation. But she knew better. That word was the strongest out of all of them to Caitlin. Savitar didn't look surprised to have said it, but he did trail off once it was out, and they stood staring at each other for at least five minutes in the wake of it. The soundlessness had returned, but Caitlin didn't resent it now; there was too much happening inside her. So the majority of her brain went to work analyzing his physical stance, the bioengineer taking over.

His face was just—smooth. It didn't have an ounce of regret on it, or pain, or shock. His eyes looked fizzled, like the end of a sparkler. Just a tiny bit afraid, that was what it was, fear. Fear in Barry's right green eye and this new, damaged blue one. It was gone in a moment, but Caitlin registered it. He seemed to be breathing a lot slower now too, and his mouth was slightly open from the small rant he'd given.

Caitlin looked at the black leather suit, and no part of her—not even the corner where all that characteristic logic stood with arms crossed—screamed that it should be red. She looked at the soft dark hair and the eyebrows that just wouldn't relax and the tired, hooded eyelids that spoke of eons running in the Speed Force (she couldn't even imagine). The way his fingers folded into his palms and unfolded again, restless and used to tinkering or fighting, there was no in between. At the mismatched eyes and the bad posture and the smell of copper that _still_ clung to him. She heard echoes of his deeper, older version of the voice belonging to the original Flash. Caitlin tasted ice cream sandwiches and listened to the screech of a comms mic too close to her mouth and felt the cold of the metal floor of his room against her feet on a night when one of them couldn't sleep.

And an overwhelming affection for the God of Speed, the storm on Infantino Street, erupted in her chest and the backs of her hands and she smiled at him, slow and deliberate.

"I care about you, too, Savitar," she said softly, even adding a little nod, to make sure everything about her told him she meant it.

Upon hearing this, his gaze dipped right in and searched both her eyes, left to right, back and forth. He barely moved apart from that, but if shadows could shift without light guiding them, his might have been sliding to collide with hers.

She had known that he cared—well, sort of known. If he didn't care, he would've let her suffocate after the Mist's attack. More logic. But it was such a leap, such a fragile thing, to hear him _say_ it, it was like she hadn't actually felt it until now. They were friends, they were a team, they mattered together. She'd had this many times, she knew what it was, but Savitar had only the memories of losing it. Not gaining it. She could see it was surrounding him in a jittering way now. Though neither his expression nor his body language conveyed it the way others' might have, he was clearly thunderstruck.

Savitar didn't appear to have anything else to say now. All he could do was look and look at her, like she'd blow away any second.

Caitlin swallowed. "It's nice. Isn't it?" She was still smiling. She couldn't wipe it off. Silence, so she continued a little waveringly, "And it doesn't have to be just me, Savitar, it doesn't have to be just—just— _one_ person. You can have a family again." It was such a simple sentence, but she knew he was made of glass, and she was throwing a _very_ big stone.

Savitar turned, tearing away from her, and said shortly, "One chance." It was so gravelly and hard, the way he said it, and everything about him hardened as he moved. "They get one chance. That's it."

And he left the Cortex. But it was different than any other time he'd left after a thick conversation like this—from the way he walked, the amount of time it took for there to be physical distance between the two of them (much longer), to the amount of light that was suddenly in the room with her. He was brighter.

* * *

Caitlin came back from her meeting with Stein in the evening. It had taken that long to go through everything, all the variables, and her mind was so sharp from Savitar's shift in momentum that she'd even surprised herself with her calculations and speed of thought. It was as if the word _you_ were a shot of espresso.

She'd need to put everything—all the samples and materials she'd brought in a briefcase to the chat with Stein—back where it had come from in the Cortex before heading to bed. A place for everything, and everything in its place. She'd never be able to sleep if she didn't know it was all organized in its proper section.

After returning her items, just as she reached the corridor leading to her room, she saw Savitar coming around the opposite corner.

Caitlin opened her mouth to greet him as he noticed her, then paused, doing a double-take.

He'd changed clothes. Well, obviously, he couldn't wear the Flash suit to bed. But these weren't his usual civilian clothes. He wasn't wearing the black denim jacket or the dark pants—this wasn't to say he was mixing it up in regards to wearing black, though. The shirt was still black, specifically, and with ¾ sleeves. Tri-blend, that was the material—only 25% cotton, her mathematical side reminded her. 50% polyester. And his pants were almost coffee-with-milk colored, maybe a little darker. Black shoes, of course. The Hammond Cuff stood out on his wrist now that he wasn't wearing fully long sleeves (they did reach his elbows) but it almost matched the pants, like a huge, high-tech watch without an actual clock. It worked.

Caitlin wasn't sure why she was fixated on the change in physical appearance—it really wasn't that drastic. But he didn't _look_ …or rather, no, he looked the same. He was still himself. But the fact that he wasn't wearing the same thing stuck him out to her, as it might have just about anyone. Even his hair looked better, though it surely hadn't changed.

"What?" Savitar's rough voice cut into her thoughts, and she shook her head slightly, assuring him subconsciously he was fine.

"Nothing," Caitlin replied easily. Her nose wrinkled. "Are those—I mean…they're new—it's—sorry, you look, you look nice." Good, good. Say whatever you would about her; she got there in the end. She cleared her throat.

Savitar almost looked…what was it? Amused? He was practically smirking, but that would imply smugness, or the intent to irritate, but none of that was there. He just seemed to find her stammering funny, and the right-hand corner of his mouth quirked.

He glanced down at himself, as if just noticing the new outfit. "Well," he muttered, "dress for the job you want." He spread his arms slightly.

Caitlin's eyebrows pinched; she mirrored his amusement. "I don't think you get paid to be a regular twenty-eight-year-old."

"Mm." The speedster's voice was still sleepy, but it was definitely good-natured, not as neutral as it had been thus far. He tilted his head upward a bit. "It's a good thing I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not twenty-eight." Savitar folded his arms and raised his eyebrows at her, as if she'd missed something.

Caitlin started when she realized he was right. "Ah," she said quietly, grinning. "You're from 2024." He was a remnant of 2024's Flash, not 2017's. A little older, though he didn't look it. Maybe that was the Speed Force. Or maybe Barry Allen aged just as well as he ran. She drew her hand downward in a very subtle, very small bow of apology, channeling H.R. without meaning to. "Oh, those complicated timelines."

He grunted, and a real smile did break through. "I figured if I'm gonna be seen in public more often, I should have more than one thing to wear," he explained at last. A little shrug. "And I had some cash."

Caitlin decided not to ask where he'd gotten this money; he may have had it for ages, crossing the time stream and doing whatever he wanted. That would include theft.

A thought occurred to her. It was as if the bioengineer in her were grasping for some form of normalcy, because suddenly the hallway was very small and Savitar's entire form—clothes, height, posture—were somehow throwing her off.

"You never said how you got that black eye," Caitlin remembered.

Savitar released a chortle, rubbing the left eye, the good one, or rather—the scarred one, beneath the transmogrifier's effects. "I…hit a telephone pole."

"You hit—?"

He nodded, hard, fast. "I know."

"But that's so—that's not very graceful of you," Caitlin admitted, trying very hard not to laugh.

Savitar watched her mouth twitch and purse in this attempt. "Even superheroes make mistakes sometimes, right?"

Caitlin grinned then, relishing the fact that he was finally referring to himself as a hero. Someone on the side of the sun and the clear. It really suited him, she decided, and it wasn't just because of the face he wore. She glanced at the floor, thinking hard. Something about his face seemed different suddenly. It wasn't the clothes. It wasn't the mismatched eyes or the barest hint of the scars beneath the light refractor. Not even the darker hair. But somewhere between her last visit to Earth-1 and this moment, something…

"Caitlin."

Her head snapped back toward him—but he was practically right in front of her. "Yes?" she blurted, fighting the urge to clear her throat again. How did he still manage to smell like autumn? In brand-new apparel?

"I need to get to my room," Savitar explained quietly, calmly, arms still folded. He was so much taller than she was.

She blinked, realizing she was blocking the corridor. "Sorry."

He passed her slowly, and called out over his shoulder, "Night, Doctor Snow." Barry's voice.

"Er—" Caitlin nodded, though she knew he wasn't facing her. "Goodnight."

She slid into her room and shut the metal door firmly, exhaling. Caitlin moved to her bed and began tidying up—putting a few haphazard files she'd had out on Nimbus' gas components onto the table in the corner, hanging up her lab coat, turning down the sheets on the bed. Busying herself.

Because really, she hadn't felt that flustered in a long time. The last time she could remember a dizziness like this, it was…well, it was in the Cortex, on Earth-1, about a year or two ago. She remembered the temperature in the room and the light on the clean floors and the smell of Harry's Big Belly Burger on the white desk and the sound of Cisco's chair squeaking as he turned and turned in it.

She also remembered Jay.

Not Jay, Hunter, she corrected. Zoom. A serial killer, a villain, the maniac who'd broken Barry's back in front of the whole city. She still heard him in her nightmares, still saw him in the dark if she'd been up too late running experiments. It wasn't the frightening mask she'd seen, though, it was just his regular, human face. With those too-bright eyes staring down at her, hungry and insane.

But the memory she was thinking of now was before he'd been Zoom to her. Back when he was still Jay, and she was still very fond of him. In retrospect, it had happened a little quickly between them, but coming away from _two_ deaths of Ronnie Raymond—and the adrenaline of fighting Zoom that year—it should have been expected that _someone's_ emotions would switch wires at some point. It wasn't the first time, now, that she wished they hadn't been hers. It would've saved her a lot of heartache—and mild PTSD she was _still_ treating. You know it's bad when you have to diagnose yourself.

The last time she'd had this feeling—this feeling that was making the backs of her eyelids hot and the muscles in her legs a little weak and the feeling in her throat sort of choked—she'd been with Jay, in the Cortex, with Cisco commenting on just how painful it was to watch the two of them dance around one another.

Why should that memory rear its baffling head now? She'd almost regarded it as a dream, after Jay's true identity had been revealed. Too sick and frightening to relive in the wake of all that had happened afterward. But it was there in the memory still, those emotions, the attraction—

Caitlin's hands fumbled with her pillow as she straightened the pillowcase; she lost hold of it and it dropped harmlessly and silently onto the floor. _Abso_ lutely _not._

It wasn't achingly strong or anything, but it was there, and the fact that she had recognized it was something to be dealt with. Right now. The way you deal with signs of the flu before it gets worse.

Savitar wasn't her enemy anymore, and he wasn't inhuman, the way she had sometimes felt in the earlier days living with him. He was a person, with feelings and memories and thoughts and fears. A person who had done wretched, wicked, deplorable things and was trying to be better _now_. A person who had accepted her help. He was her friend, her teammate, a position she was familiar with. He was irritating and rude at times, but she trusted him. He was trustworthy.

He also looked, sounded, and (albeit rarely) acted like Barry Allen, her best friend. Which opened a very different can of worms, and Caitlin was no fan of worms, so she closed it almost immediately and tossed it in the mental trash.

The similarities alone should have nipped any thought—any thought—like _this_ in the bud. It was just a thought, a fleeting feeling in the hall and in the Cortex today, but you had to control those, lest something dangerous come of it because you were careless and let your mind run off with your common sense and wisdom.

It was a ludicrous idea, and it wouldn't be dwelled upon any longer from this moment forward. Caitlin had had possibly the worst luck in the multiverse when it came to _romance_ , and she wasn't interested in entertaining the thought of it any time soon. And let's not forget—that butterfly feeling, though she'd only had it for a second there, was distracting. There was too much to do to. She couldn't let herself wander.

She pulled the covers up to her chin and turned on her side, but Savitar's little smile was there when she closed her eyes. So she allowed them to fly open and focus instead on the headlights in the distance, outside the single window in the room.

Then his words came flooding back to her unbidden.

 _It's bad enough I care this much about you._

Caitlin inhaled, exasperated. Suddenly she understood, in a sense, why he'd sounded so frustrated. So angry. She'd have to be a bit more careful. It wouldn't take much. But if she didn't—if she didn't really buckle down—she might be in trouble.

She was the basket-case extraordinaire of S.T.A.R. Labs. If Caitlin Snow couldn't discipline her mind and emotions, who could?

* * *

 **(Author's Note: The only note I've actually got right now is yes, Savitar did really hit a telephone pole. He wasn't making something up because he got in a secret, more sinister fight and ended up with a shiner, he actually ran into a telephone pole, I promise. I was rewatching some Flash and realized that Barry did dumb stuff...all the time. Clumsy little wonder. And isn't Savitar still Barry's remnant? I felt the need to have him do something a little silly. So there.**

 **Please do review. I miss your voices. ~Doverstar)**


	28. Chapter 28: No Going Back

It was clichéd, hiding out in the sewer. Underneath Central City, tunnels and tunnels of waste and shadows and general bad decisions. Cement as far as the eye could see—and that wasn't really very far, as this place rarely saw the sun. But it was important that he remain undiscovered, and who wanted to take a trip into the sewers?

The police didn't know there was a _mastermind_ behind the recent disasters. They simply thought there were hordes of superhuman criminals, all wanting a piece of the pie, running willy-nilly about the city without direction. What they actually were were pawns, but this was need-to-know information. And obviously, no one else needed to know. Just him.

If the police didn't know there was a mastermind, then they didn't know to _look_ for a mastermind, and the sewer seemed the obvious choice should they try. This was why he'd dug even deeper—why he'd set up his base of operations _below_ the sewer. Beneath the underbelly. It would have been darker than dark, but crime did in fact pay, and in this case, it paid for lights. Not heating, but the cold seemed to suit the area and the intent behind his little hideaway, so he kept it that way. Shoot him.

He wasn't here all the time. He did like to get out and about every once in a while, but seeing him without his favorite clothes on, there wasn't really anything extraordinary about him, so what was the point? Better to do it in style, and really, he only went out in style when there was something in it for him. Something to steal, someone to kill. It was far more satisfying, whatever you were doing, if you were dressed in your best.

He didn't go out as often as he once had now—he didn't need to anymore; he had his pawns. Once upon a time, with a series of elaborate heists and frankly brilliant strategies, he'd been the talk of the ne'er-do-well crowd. No one could do their worst quite like he could—not without being caught, anyway. And once they got word of his abilities, his cunning, none of the others could help but seek him out. He'd gained a reputation—quite right, too—and they each wanted to share it. So why not? Why shouldn't he share? So long as they did everything he bade them, what was a little credit between master and dispensables?

It worked quite well, too. Terror in the streets, every one of those simple little people on the surface unhinged, on edge. He nearly had them all quaking, afraid of everything because they couldn't quite be sure what was safe anymore. Going out for pizza? Depositing a check? Taking a walk, or, heaven forbid, watering the hydrangeas? Certainly not. Throw a few crazy inhuman lackeys their way, blowing things up and causing a nice fever of hysteria, and the ordinary folk melted like wax. Poor little nothings.

But there were always flies at a picnic, a split end, a fingernail that was longer than the rest you had to bite off eventually to even things out. The shadow vigilante, the running man, the streak racing around the city all of a sudden and spoiling his fun, was like that.

And out of all the weapons his little gang had created or stolen for him, none of them seemed fast enough or poetic enough to immobilize that particular fly. There was a crate of them he'd brought to his favorite scaffolding, and he was sorting through them in a bored sort of way.

"Sometimes I think you should see a doctor," came a voice below him. "You're so thin I can barely see you if I look straight at you."

He glanced down, over the railing, at what was probably his most exceptional pawn. Lisa Snart. "It might surprise you to know, my dear," he revealed carelessly, turning an old machine gun in his hands to examine it, "that I'm awfully familiar with doctors. I've had thirty of them to date. And not one of them ever mentioned my size."

"No one offered you a sandwich? Thirty of them and nobody thought, _hey, that's unhealthy_?" Lisa demanded with a little grin, climbing slowly up to join him.

This familiarity she'd created between them was amusing, but it had begun to get out of hand. Recently she behaved as if she were entitled to special treatment, to inside information and little jokes. Once she'd even asked his real name. More and more often he had to remind her of her place, of how little she actually mattered. Perhaps this morning would be one of those times. Or not. He was in a good mood.

He passed her the machine gun with nimble fingers. "They might've thought it, actually, maybe, probably, but—really dreadful thing—after I decapitated the first three who mentioned it, none of the others seemed to have the stomach for personal remarks. Pity." He ran a thumb along the rail. "Perhaps if they'd tried harder I might've listened. I was going through my first little knife phase, I think." He sprang to his feet, in need of muscle exercise. "Enough about me. You're here for something."

Lisa's eyes widened, but this was the only sign she was disturbed by the story. "You sent everybody else." She put on a pout. "When do I get to go out and play?"

He observed her pout and her stance and the way her every movement and syllable flirted with him. It was entertaining, to be sure, like watching a child sing a popular song without knowing all of the words, but with every bit of confidence the original artist had on the track. Ultimately it was an attempt to control him, and he had been controlled quite enough in one lifetime, thanks. He was the one who directed others now. It was _different_ now. Little girl couldn't understand this, little Lisa. She couldn't change his position, and if she went on trying, she'd have to go. Shame, honestly, such wasted potential, but the color of her hair would probably look very nice against a pool of blood—red and gold went well together, he thought, picturing it, and wouldn't she be pleased to look as stunning as ever in the end? It would be a favor. Sometimes he felt he was going a bit soft; perhaps he'd kill her bloodlessly after all, to prove his method. Difficult.

Well, no need to choose right away. She had some time to discipline herself. Hopeless, but she had _time_ , and that was gracious of her. Giving him a bit to pick how she'd go. There, you see? Exceptional. Nobody else was so thoughtful.

"I'm afraid you're on surveillance today, Goldie," he clipped, leaping onto one of the rafters above them. He liked to be tall. _Was_ tall, wiry. But taller was always nice. High as he could go.

 _"Further, Pete! No one's entertained unless you're a speck up there! D'you call that_ death-defying _?"_

Anyway.

Lisa scowled. "Again? Is that all I'm good for? It's—look, I haven't found out anything new—he runs, he likes black, he saves the day. Sometimes he eats his weight in carbs. His weight, my weight." She rolled her eyes. "The weight of a skyscraper."

"All this shadowing and you haven't gone in?" He _tsk_ ed. "Lisa, Lisa, we were going to try harder, d'you remember?"

She had the intelligence to take a step backward. "Why don't you send Rory in? He'd know it better than I do."

"He hasn't got the technical expertise," he snapped. Then it became a roar. "Am I the only one around here who bothers to _think_?" He blinked. "'Course I am, what am I saying, why else would you all be here." He swung from his legs off of the rafter and landed in front of her without a sound. She leaned away. "Silly silly. We need _eyes_ , we need them _in_ with our little pest, I rather like playing Peeping Tom. _You_ don't like disappointing me, do you?"

She swallowed, but did not respond. Safety in silence.

"Lovely. So you'll pop in and use your tech and that, and we'll have a nice new show to watch on the telly soon enough." He clapped his hands and she flinched. "Off you go!"

* * *

Caitlin had been planning a visit to Earth-1 for an entire week now.

Really, you could say she'd been planning it since she left after the last one, but she'd been so distracted—between curing Stein's wife, supervising Savitar's missions, and now helping Wally clear his father's name—she hadn't had time to actually execute anything until this past week arrived.

Stein was away at a convention in this Earth's Starling City—he'd tried to cancel his appearance there to work with Caitlin, but she'd insisted he go. Life wasn't supposed to screech to a standstill when someone you loved was in trouble. It was supposed to move even more fervently; you had a front row seat to how fleeting it could be. And while Caitlin had been steadily working on the gas cure—specifically what medium it ought to be—she'd come to a grinding halt, unsure of what to administer to Clarissa exactly. With the deadly, inhumane components of Nimbus' particular gas, she couldn't tell what would be helpful or harmful. So she'd taken a break to focus on helping Savitar.

But Savitar's missions were becoming mediocre, routine—sometimes it seemed he didn't really need instruction, and she felt she was there more to keep him from unnecessary violence than to direct anything. He knew what to do, despite moving in a leather suit rather than a large, multi-powered metal one. They kept the comms on, though, which she appreciated, and he even resorted to asking questions now and then—how far he was from his destination, the structure of a building, the number of civilians in the danger zone. Questions he shouldn't have needed to ask, but she got the feeling he was practicing teamwork in his own gruff way, so she didn't mind.

After a few days, she simply let him handle things on his own, now and then checking the monitors and communication to be sure he didn't need anything. Then she headed to the med bay, wiping down surfaces and restocking supplies, keeping busy.

For a moment, she could pretend she was back on Earth-1, in her own med bay. This wasn't so different. The smell of the room, the sound of the machinery whirring in the background, it was all so familiar. It came rushing up into her, as if delayed by all the recent craziness on Earth-66—she really missed home.

Suddenly she needed to hear Cisco's voice. Normally she'd be all-business, but she'd been all-business for ages now, and though work was definitely more comforting to her than a shock blanket, she knew a talk with her family would be better this time around. It had been long enough. She likened it to having a bad cold. Why run on pills and orange juice when it would be far more beneficial to your well-being to simply stay in and rest?

She needed Team Flash.

Caitlin had the projector running in the engineer room within the next 15 minutes. The rag she'd been wiping things down with was still in her left hand; she'd been moving almost on autopilot.

Today the connection seemed a bit… _glitchy_ was the word Cisco might have used. The screen flickered more often than it had before, and the sound was fuzzy when images and audio finally came online.

Caitlin sat in the dusty work chair that had once belonged to the late Earth-66 Ronnie Raymond, straightening her skirt, eyes searching the picture for familiar faces. It was set up in the Cortex, on a main monitor—she could see nearly the whole room; it must've been channeled through the one mounted on the walls. It looked so much sweeter there, somehow. The colors even seemed further saturated, the electric lights calmer. And of course, there wasn't a layer of grime on everything.

She saw Iris come into view first, to her surprise, but Caitlin's heart leapt with delight all the same—it wasn't Cisco, but she'd missed _everyone_ , and Barry's compassionate fiancee was just as welcome as everyone's favorite engineer.

"Caitlin!" Iris greeted, grinning up at the screen and walking closer to the monitor.

Caitlin, unable to stop smiling, waved energetically. It was enough for a hello; she wasn't sure she could get anything out just yet. It was too good to see her friend. It was too much not to be able to hug her.

"Okay, you can see me!" There was laughter in Iris' voice. "I got this thing up and working literally in two minutes when you called." She swung her arms a little. "I am gonna be running this place before you know it."

The image jittered for a moment, lagging so that Iris was frozen in one position while she spoke. Caitlin could hear her, but the picture was looping.

Then it stopped, and they were live again, and Caitlin's eyebrows puckered for a moment. Technical difficulties were nothing she wasn't used to, so she dismissed it, stretching a little. "Where is everyone?"

Iris glanced behind her. "Cisco should be back any second. He went down to the Speed Lab with Wally." She rolled her eyes. "Barry's getting me lunch—"

There was a loud crackling sound that drowned out anything else she said, and Caitlin saw papers go flying through the room. Her breathing came a little quicker.

"Everything bagel," came the warm, friendly tone of Central City's savior. Barry came into view, in civilian clothing, passing Iris a brown paper bag.

Iris made an exaggerated sound of euphoria. "Did you get cream cheese?" she demanded, distracted from the multidimensional call for the moment.

"Vegetarian," Barry confirmed, grinning.

"There's only one half in here."

"Really?" Barry opened the bag and made a convincing scrunch of an expression, confusion plastered in the wrinkles by his eyes and the way his mouth turned down. He gave Iris large, innocent green eyes. "Weird."

Her mouth went wide with indignancy at the thought of her significant other eating half of her lunch, but she was still smiling. "I am _starving_ , how _dare_ you!" She smacked him hard in the chest and Barry put both arms up to protect himself, beaming away. "You know what, no, this is not true love! The wedding is off, Barry Allen!"

Caitlin laughed hard, watching them, really relishing the sensation as it bubbled up in her chest and tickled her throat.

Barry, hearing the sound, twisted and jerked around, face a picture of surprise and hope. "Cait?"

Iris, taking the cream cheese out of the bag, started, as if suddenly remembering Doctor Snow was on the line. She made a grunt as she swallowed a bite of bagel, pointing to the screen.

Barry finally glanced at the monitor, face breaking into an even bigger smile. "Hey!"

Caitlin stopped herself from waving twice—don't be predictable—and settled for, "Hi!" She folded her arms, a playful look of admonishment easily masking her expression. "You didn't…bring _me_ a bagel, did you?"

"Sorry." Barry mirrored her pose. "You have to be on the right Earth to get a bagel from the Flash."

Iris held up her cream cheese knife in agreement. "If you come right now you can have this…" She held up a tiny gray container. "…extra little thing of veggie cream cheese, cuz," a glare was sent Barry's way, "I'm not gonna need it for _one half_ of a bagel or anything, thank you, babe."

Barry chortled a little and turned back to Caitlin. "So?"

"So?"

"What's this about?" Barry motioned from the screen to himself, to the room.

"I missed you!" Caitlin explained, feigning outrage that she should have another reason for calling. "I'm not allowed to want to see you all?"

"Savitar didn't set anything on fire?" Barry checked. Iris looked up from lunch.

"No," Caitlin promised, spreading her palms and playing along. "We are flame-free thus far."

"Did he bust my suit?" came a very loud warning voice. Cisco Ramon had entered the room, Vibe goggles perched on his head. There was a bandage around one hand.

"Cisco, what happened to your hand?" Caitlin immediately called, standing, forgetting hellos completely now.

"Well see," Cisco cleared his throat. "I was making pancakes, but I got distracted thinking about what _Crispy did to_ _my suit_ ," His eyebrows were up to his hairline as he met her gaze. "Cuz that's gotta be why you're calling, right, I mean, it's not like we've heard from you in six weeks."

"He hurt it in a welding accident," Iris supplied, deadpan.

Cisco's language was about 83% jocular, even when something was serious, and Caitlin knew him well enough to know that though he was teasing now, there was a streak of actual hurt in her lack of contact. Barry's face said he was a little miffed too. She bit her lip, making certain her own body language told them she was aware.

"It's been a little hectic around here," she admitted. "I meant to call, I just—"

Iris got up from behind the white winding desk. "Relax, Caitlin," she soothed. "Getting a—supervillain set up in a totally different world, just you? That's a _huge_ job. And we're _not_ guilt-tripping you for not keeping in touch," she added sharply, glancing at the boys.

Barry was nodding. He looked up at Caitlin, and for a moment, the way he was squinting, it was like she was looking at Savitar from the top of a ladder—the view of Earth-1's Cortex was angled from up above, obviously—and she tried not to let the connection show on her face. "How is he?" he asked simply.

The first word that came to her mind was _good_. Not the average, go-to response everyone gave when asked how something or someone was. It wasn't that sort of _good_. It was—the definitions came flooding through. Healthy, superior, quality, right, desired, approved of. Savitar was better now than he had ever been, and she cared about him, and he smiled more often and he was just _good_. He was well, he was solid and whole—or starting to be. And they were a team and she admired him and enjoyed his company. He was good.

But she couldn't say any of that—it would sound odd—and saying _he's good_ just sounded unintelligent. She could do better than that.

"He's…" She shifted her weight to her left foot. "He's my friend," she said firmly, after a moment, and waited for them to burst.

Cisco was first. He dropped the slushie he was drinking—on the desk; it didn't tip over, it was more as if he'd set it down very hard. "Hold up, I'm sorry?"

"Cisco," Iris began loudly.

"He's your what now?" Cisco licked the last of the blue slushie from his lips and stared at her. She could see every kind of uncomprehending flitting across his face, and for a second she regretted the confession, if only because she wasn't sure she could explain herself. Not to Cisco. Not after losing H.R.

She might have retracted it then, or changed the subject, because she could suddenly feel the absence of Wells in that other Cortex, raw as it had been the day after he'd died. She could see the lack of him beside Ramon, see the lack of coffee cups on unceremonial surfaces and hear the lack of drumsticks tapping away.

But she looked to the left corner of the image, where Barry stood, arms still folded, and his face gave her confidence. It wasn't that he seemed pleased or even understanding—he just didn't look surprised. He didn't look surprised at all. Iris had jolted when Caitlin had said it, and Cisco, of course, had exploded, but not Barry Allen. Barry was standing there just waiting for more, perfectly calm.

"He's different," Caitlin cleared her throat. Twice. "It's hard to explain—he's better. He's really trying, Cisco, he's saved so many lives already—mine included—a-and he wants—"

Cisco's head was wagging back and forth, harder and harder. "Nope. No. No. No, Caitlin, he's—"

"My friend," Caitlin repeated, louder. "He is. If you don't trust him, Cisco, I need you to trust _me_. He wants to change. He wants help."

"It's like Darth Vader, man," Barry broke in, glancing at Cisco.

Torn from the serious moment by his beloved Star Wars, Cisco looked back at Barry, listening now. "Come again?"

"I watched those movies with you like 80 times," Barry insisted, the most level-headed voice in the room for a change. "Savitar went from being my time remnant— _me—_ to—"

"Trying to kill me," Iris added helpfully, not sounding at all bitter, and the way she was handing her fiancee the next piece to the example he was trying to build spoke of the two kids that had grown up together under Joe's roof.

Barry, with just a shadow of discomfort whisking across his stance at the mention of Infantino Street, pointed at Iris and turned the finger back to Cisco, nodding, "Right, and from that to being the Flash on Earth-66," he finished, eyes flicking toward Caitlin's image. "Like how Vader went from Anakin to Sith to—"

"To Anakin again," Cisco muttered, clearly making the connection. The other 15% of his language was pop culture references, and Barry was using it in Caitlin's favor. Ramon met Caitlin's eyes. "All right. I'm not saying _I_ forgive him, okay, because I'm not. I won't. But—" He exhaled, long and deliberating, through his nose. "I do trust you. Cuz you're _my_ friend. And if you say he's okay, I'll let it go." He shook a finger at her. "But I'm not making any promises. He comes back here again and I am not above vibing him into Planet of the Apes."

Caitlin gave him her fondest smile. "Thank you, Cisco." She paused. "And your suit is fine."

He held up the universal hand motion for _nice_ and walked back to his slushie, sullen. Probably thinking it all over. Caitlin appreciated his self-control, she knew one Star Wars reference was not realistically enough to pacify her best friend, but he was reigning in his actual discomfort for her sake. And she could tell he meant what he'd said—his trust was thick and cool in her, and she felt the usual burst of affection for the goofy engineer.

"So when _are_ you coming back?" Iris suddenly asked, coming to stand beside Barry. Caitlin couldn't tell from her expression what she thought of the whole _friend_ description—but her tone was still good-natured.

Caitlin opened her mouth to respond, but confusion swamped her, and she let her hands slap down to her sides, shaking her head slightly. "It's—I was actually thinking about visiting for a little while, if that's—"

"Yes!" Iris crowed.

Barry held up a hand. "Visiting?" His eyebrows came down. "When are you coming _home_ , Cait? Permanently."

Caitlin swallowed. "There's still a lot I've committed to here, Barry. Stein's wife isn't cured yet, and I have to be here to help create one when Stein gets back from the convention—"

"We get it, responsibilities, blah blah blah," Cisco called from his seat behind the white winding desk. "So visit. I can have a breach open in like, three seconds." He flicked his goggles down over his eyes.

"Now?" Caitlin's head reared.

"Why not?" Iris leaned an elbow on Barry's shoulder. "Just for a few days?"

Caitlin considered it. It was almost suffocatingly tempting. Stein was away, Savitar was on a roll with his fight against crime, and she could call Wally and postpone Eddie's trip to S.T.A.R Labs coming up in the next couple of days. He still had to debrief them on Joe's imprisonment. What could a small visit hurt?

She felt the smile cementing on her face, excitement tingling in the ends of her fingers. Itching to be back where she belonged. "I still have to pack."

"Ten minutes!" Cisco ordered jovially, heading out of the Cortex, no doubt to the Breach Room.

* * *

Caitlin's hands were unsteady and quick as she packed a few outfits, a few medical supplies. Savitar was out doing his rounds—she had every intention of waiting for him to return before going through to Earth-1, telling him where she was headed, but there was no reason she couldn't go back to the engineering room and make sure Cisco was ready for her. She wouldn't go anywhere until she'd said goodbye to Savitar and had given him a return date. No way she was doing that again. _My friend._

She left the suitcase open on her cot, reaching for her shoes, when a beep on the Bluetooth in her ear sounded. Certain Cisco was calling to tell her he was prepared—and ask what was keeping her—Caitlin answered it with a slightly-exasperated, "I'm almost done, Cisco."

"Nah, we've got bigger problems, Caitlin," he responded, crackly and far away on the other end. He sounded winded, and Caitlin's heart clenched in concern. Was Earth-1's S.T.A.R. Labs under attack? Fine time for metas to get cocky.

"What's happening?" she demanded, eyes on the window, on the view outside, where the world was calm and the autumn afternoon was brisk and bright.

"I can't get it open."

Those five words were weighty with stress, and the Killer Frost buried within her made her blood boil, whereas the Caitlin side was suddenly afraid.

"What do you mean?" Caitlin pressed a finger to the volume sensor on the Bluetooth device, but it was already as far up as it could go. Why did he sound so quiet? It was clear he was shouting.

"What?"

"What do you _mean_?" Caitlin repeated, shouting now too. Why couldn't he hear her?

"The breach," Cisco panted in her ear. "The portal, my vibes, it's not working."

Caitlin paced, eyes falling on the open suitcase longingly. Think logically. _One. Two._ "Is it because of your energy levels?"

"I just drank a freaking mega raspberry slushie from a real shady gas station, Caitlin!" Cisco burst out. "There's a 50/50 percent chance it was drugged, I don't think energy's the issue here, okay?"

"Try again!" Caitlin exclaimed, feeling ridiculous and helpless. She knew, on paper, how her friend's abilities worked, but when it came to execution, to cause and effect, she could only stand and watch—or in this case, listen—and hope everything went accordingly.

After a moment of silence, his voice came erupting back to her, even more exhausted. "I can't. It's not happening. This is like my tenth try, I don't—"

There was a shuffling sound—"Cait?" Barry had taken the walkie talkie. "I'm gonna run there."

"What?" Cisco cried.

Caitlin bent double, as if that might help her hear them. "No, Barry, that's not—"

"We've gotta make sure this isn't Cisco's vibe powers failing," Barry insisted firmly. "If I can run there and back, it'll prove it's just him."

"Bro, I can hear you!" Caitlin could just barely make out Cisco in the background.

Barry called back, "Your powers might be on the fritz, we don't know—"

Caitlin shoved a few locks of hair behind her left ear. "I don't think that's a good idea. What if you can't get back? Or if you end up on some _other_ other Earth? Assuming you can run that fast _and_ create a breach without the tachyon device—"

"We'll hook it up," Barry promised. He shouted a little further from the walkie talkie, "Cisco, get it strapped to the suit!" To Caitlin, he added, as if thinking aloud, "I'll head downtown so I get enough momentum."

"This isn't that easy," Caitlin protested, determined to be heard. "Even with the tachyon device, you said you had enough trouble getting back to Earth-1 the last time you used it—and this time the likelihood of having someone like Kara Danvers to help you out of it is catastrophically low."

"Cait," Barry interrupted, sounding very much like a rattled Savitar, "I'm gonna try, and it's gonna be fine. Okay? We have to make sure we can get through."

Brooking no further argument, the Flash hung up, after swearing to call right back with the results of his run—provided he didn't just show up in the building with her any minute now.

Even though the possibility of the connection between their universes breaking down made Caitlin's stomach churn, she couldn't help thinking it was too ridiculous to be real. They'd had _so much_ difficulty doing the simplest things; it didn't seem quite fair that hopping between dimensions should be a hassle now too. It had worked perfectly beforehand, almost effortlessly—though if you asked Cisco you'd probably hear the odd complaint. Surely this wasn't going to go wrong too.

Then she thought of the way their communication device had been acting up and her heart sank. Was this—whatever this was—the cause of those malfunctions too? Guiltily she hoped Barry was right. She hoped it was just Cisco.

It seemed she'd sat on that cot beside her packed suitcase for hours, staring at the door, willing Barry's silhouette to magically appear, when the Bluetooth creaked and spat static in her ear, and Caitlin responded instantly, jumping up.

"Did you make it?" she demanded, trying not to sound shrill. "Barry? Where are you?"

"I can't." His voice was hoarse, tired, tight. "I couldn't make it, I don't know what—I ran as fast as I could."

She must've been on speaker. She heard Cisco say, from a corner somewhere, "He was going Mach 6, no lie. This isn't right. My vibes aren't doing anything, the tachyon device failed, Barry's got nothing…"

Caitlin felt her breathing coming in shorter and shorter gasps. "I don't understand."

"Caitlin, we're gonna figure this out, it's not—"

"Barry." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Am I—am I stuck here?" The word _stuck_ almost choked her. Ironic.

"No." Still winded from his run, Barry sounded strained and almost angry. "No, you're not stuck there, Cait. You're coming home, I promise."

Caitlin stood up. "I'll check the news. Maybe something—maybe something is happening. Something colossal to affect the multiverse. What else could do this, what else could close the gap? Just like that?"

She was grasping at straws, she knew. But plenty of insane things had happened to them—even for the team struck by lightning, certain things were a stretch, and they'd always made it through. There was every possibility some doomsday situation was about to unfold, and that this was just one in a series of symptoms. They simply needed to treat it—and that came _after_ a diagnosis. The computers in the Cortex would show something, maybe, and if it was _really_ bad, physically, atmospherically, something would have happened outside, and it would be on the news.

"Cait," Barry broke through in her ear, interrupting her thoughts, "head for the basement."

"What?"

"Forget the Cortex for right now, all right? The Breacher Room on that Earth—the links are always stronger on this end when we're down there. We'll go to ours, you go to yours, let's try the Vibe thing there. Okay?"

"I'm on my way."

She could tell Barry was trying to remain calm as he asked Cisco to try vibing one more time; it was so easy to replay his first concerns over her trip to Earth-66, back when she'd first told him she was leaving. He'd been so afraid something like this would happen. A tiny part of her brain wanted to apologize to him right then and there for not listening, but she didn't pay it much heed. There was no sense in apologizing if they hadn't proved he _was_ right. Not yet.

Caitlin was moving too quickly through the corridors to really sense anything around her. It was like smell, touch, sight—it was all moved to the background, all dulled. Just her hearing. She clung to the sounds coming from the Bluetooth, the sounds coming from Earth-1, from _Earth_ , the real Earth, her home, with her family and her friends and her seat behind the white winding desk and her med bay and her favorite pen and the people she couldn't do without laughing and smiling and making her warm.

Barry said something about hanging up—something about getting back to her when they knew more, about calling back in an hour. Caitlin replied, but she couldn't have told you what she'd said—consent, to be sure, because he did indeed hang up, and she was left with the echo of her own footsteps in the twisting corridors of the S.T.A.R. Labs underbelly.

 _One, two, three—four—four—five, six…seven…_

She couldn't even think properly. She had to stay focused, to be composed. Again, really, there was no real reason to panic yet. They didn't actually know what was happening. It had all just _started_ to go wrong. Not fully wrong yet. Not yet, not yet.

Nope. Nausea threatened in the base of her throat and the tingling of her skin. Caitlin was a naturally-stressed person. Naturally pessimistic, naturally concerned, ready with the worst-case scenario. She was freaking out, realizing she was now running.

 _THUMP!_

She smacked right into Savitar. It was like hitting an oak tree.

He was in his civilian clothes, and he caught her arms to steady her. "Caitlin—"

"Sorry—"

Numbly she tried to move past him—she had to get to the basement—but he was strong, and his hands held her fast where she stood. Not painfully, but enough to keep her still.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was so—chill. Why was she noticing it now? Nothing ever seemed to faze him, not nearly as often as things did for her, and it was… _endearing_ in this second.

Caitlin looked up at the dual-colored eyes and the dark hair and felt a little calmer, just a bit, and suddenly it was all spilling out of her. She told him about calling Earth-1 and how Cisco's vibes didn't work, how she was headed to the basement to attempt establishing a better link between Earths. It sounded ridiculous when she described the theory aloud—like moving around to get better cell service, holding your phone up Lion King style. But there wasn't much to go on.

She knew she sounded distraught—probably a little pathetic, too. Caitlin wasn't concerned with her own appearance at the moment; all she wanted was to make sure she wasn't cut off from her Earth for good.

He'd let go of her hands by the time she was through, of course. Savitar's gaze was like the surface of a lake, listening to her. Not exactly cold, not exactly hard, but sometimes it _felt_ that way, and it looked so clear and orderly and simple. Finally, his weight shifted, only slightly, bent toward her instead of away.

"You wanted to leave," he said. The statement was made of outdated asphalt, the way it came out rough and blunt.

Caitlin paused a moment before replying distractedly, "Yes. But it was just for a visit. I was going to tell you when you came back, but—then _this_ happened, and we're trying to…"

"I can run you there."

She knew she was gaping like a fish, and it was unattractive, but could you blame her? "I—you want to _run_ me there."

Savitar looked down at her, motionless, waiting for her brain to catch up. Lake eyes.

It clicked back into place, a second late. "You can't," she sighed, dragging a stressed hand through her hair, pulling it back. "Barry tried already, he couldn't do it."

"Oh, well if _Barry_ couldn't do it," Savitar muttered, mouth twitching, practically rolling his whole head. "Abandon all hope, right?"

"My point is that no speedster can run that quickly, not without a tachyon device or some other kind of bolster," Caitlin huffed. "And before you suggest making one, they tried the tachyon thing too."

Savitar shook his head. "Caitlin."

"Something has jammed the—the—doors in the multiverse, the rips in the fabric of space, or time, or—I mean it _seems_ like it has—we've only tried two of possibly multiple options—and if we can't—"

"Caitlin," Savitar put both hands on her shoulders, gripping a little harder than necessary.

She swallowed hard, glancing at him with what were probably wild eyes.

"Stop."

One word was supposed to make everything stop spinning. It was almost comical. Caitlin opened her mouth to object, but Savitar spoke a little louder before she could.

"Talking. And worrying. That's not doing anything." He dropped his arms, letting them swing at his sides. He pointed lazily to his temples. "Except giving me a headache."

Caitlin allowed a sliver of her old teasing spirit, the one she used with Team Flash on a good day where nobody died, to surface. "Oh, I'm so sorry about your _head_ , it's only the universe in flux—" She had to raise her voice because he was snorting a small laugh, "—please tell me how I can help you in your crisis, just forget space and time, matter, air—"

He leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You're still talking."

She snapped her mouth shut, almost stubbornly.

Exhaling shortly, Savitar rocketed off the wall nearly a minute after he'd settled there. "Look, you don't have to worry because they're gonna get you home and it's gonna all go back to normal."

Caitlin inhaled where he'd let it all out, eyes still wide. "How do you know?" She licked her lips. "How do you know this isn't some kind of permanent damage?"

Savitar looked at her from the tops of his eyes. He gestured with spread arms to himself. "I hear you're good with permanent damage."

Her whole body stilled; suddenly he looked a lot softer. It was the only word she could use for it—softer.

"Besides," Savitar sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling at last. "He's never gonna stop, even if you try everything and it still doesn't work. Barry'll bring you back. When has the Flash ever let you down, Caitlin?" That last question was bitter, or something very close to it.

But his tone was practically gentle, and his posture was solid and even if the world _was_ spinning right then, Savitar seemed pretty grounded. He'd offered to run her there. Himself.

Caitlin was full of stress and fear, but he sounded so much like—well, like a _friend_. Her friend. She was lucky to have one, to have him. And here he was actually trying to make things better, not just for himself. In his sardonic, moody way. When had they arrived here? Why had it taken this long?

The next move was an obvious one, especially given who she was and who he remembered being. So she didn't feel terribly awkward, nor did she regret it at all, as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck in a grateful hug.

Savitar's entire body went limp the moment she embraced him. It was as if she'd pressed a button and sent him to sleep. She felt his breathing slow and his heartbeat slow and really, everything about him basically got slower. Not the body's usual response to a hug, but it made sense when Caitlin reminded herself that Savitar had never once been hugged. He knew every hug Barry Allen had ever received, but those were ghosts to him; he'd never felt it himself. He exhaled again, even steadier, she felt it near her shoulder.

He didn't move gingerly at all to return the hug, probably because he recalled the best way to do it, though without any actual experience. Easily he folded strong arms around her and held her exactly the way Barry held her—too tight, absolutely safe. But he was about an inch taller than Barry, so she had to stand on her highest tiptoes, and he smelled different—copper, of course—and without straightening even a little, he managed to bring her feet off the ground, just a sand grain's distance from the floor, but she felt it. Little differences.

"Never," she mumbled, smiling. Answering the bitter question. "And you won't either, I know. Thanks, Savitar."

Savitar didn't reply. She felt him nod.

Caitlin let go and stepped backward. "Barry said they'd call in an hour to let us know what they found out." She turned on a heel.

Savitar was right beside her, every step. Their shoulders brushed as they walked. "Thought you were headed to the Breacher Room."

"I'll go down in a minute," Caitlin promised. She smirked at him. "First we're getting you some aspirin for that head."

"I don't need it."

"You have a headache."

"I don't _need_ it."

"You do not argue with your personal physician," Caitlin admonished.

"Ohh," Savitar breathed, head hanging back, exhaling in exaggerated surprise. "You're _my_ personal physician now too?" His pace slackened a little so that he wouldn't move further ahead than she was. "You really get around, Doctor Snow."

Caitlin rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. They would get this multiverse thing sorted out, and when they did, she was surprised to find she was going to miss him when she left.

She nearly stopped walking then and there.

How could she miss him? Logic, think logically. Mathematically. Sensibly. How could she miss a copy of Barry Allen? She'd be going back to the original, it wasn't as if she were _really_ missing anything. Leaving a remnant shouldn't have been as hard as leaving a regular companion, one with their own face and identity.

That didn't change it. It would be hard. For right now, in this moment, it would be hard to go to Earth-1 without him. She would miss him. And the confusion that thought, no, that _fact_ dragged along with it threatened to give her a headache of her own.

* * *

 **(Dear Jell-O Squares: I will be gone at camp until October 19th, so it won't be until after that that Chasing the Light updates! Don't leave me, I _will_ return! Your reviews and thoughts keep me going. Thank you all so much! -Doverstar)**


	29. Chapter 29: Ignition

**(Author's Note: Jell-O Squares? Are you alive? Are you ready to kill me yet...? Over a month of no updates. I'd kill me. I'M _SO SORRY_. Don't abandon me now, delightful readers, I've seen all of your reviews and I promise I have no intention of giving up on this monster story. Life has been crazy since that camp retreat I mentioned, but I'm still alive, I swear. Also, tomorrow I'm getting braces, so no update tomorrow.**

 **Enjoy, patient Jell-O Squares! I missed you guys. -Doverstar)**

* * *

Early mornings on Earth-1 were blue.

The color, not the emotion.

Caitlin woke at five AM most days. Before Ronnie had died, it had been six, but the pain kept her tossing and turning so much so that by the time it was five, she figured she may as well get up. The sky was blue, and the trees she passed in the car on the way to work were black, but an hour later they'd be their own shade of blue, something like midnight, because the sun was slow to make an appearance and time seemed to drag without coffee.

The Cortex was blue—milky blue on the floor due to electric light assaulting a tired pair of eyes, hints of blue shining out from the many computer screens.

In the summer, there was blue staining Cisco's tongue when he laughed, favoring those gas station slushies and lollipops. Barry's S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt was tinged blue, and he wore it when they were all together, scheming to protect the city, using husky voice because it was too early to sound like a human being. The tie Joe sported on Fridays when he came to listen to their technological babble was striped with blue, and the smell of Iris' perfume reminded Caitlin of the blue of tiny spring flowers peppering the grass, no matter what season it currently was.

The walls in the Pipeline were blue and the smell of breakfast was bright blue and generally, glowingly, mornings on Earth-1 were blue. A good blue. A safe blue. So quiet and welcoming and soft because most of the world was sleeping or sleepy. This was a well-liked, inviting color and it fit that slow time of day—if you could call it that when it was still pretty dark out.

On Earth-66, the mornings were purple.

It wasn't a vibrant purple or a dark one, but pale and almost unnoticeable. It hadn't been there the entire time Caitlin had been on this Earth; it had just recently appeared.

Purple was in the light glinting off the end of her metal cot's frame when she got up—still at five, she didn't need an alarm at this point. It was in the shadows in the corridors after she was dressed and ready for the day, heading out to Jitters with a growling stomach.

It was even in Jitters—pale purple in the smell of raspberry scones rising in the oven, in the cold of the counter as Caitlin set her bag on it, the smooth, painted marble freshly wiped down by the single barista who must've opened the café alone. Normally Jitters was a sort of warm color to her—orange, red, even gold—but here, it held a hint of something cool and interesting, like everything else. Not quite blue, but close. Different than Earth-1 as usual.

It was in the low light driving back to S.T.A.R. Labs-66 with a to-go bag in the shotgun seat. Caitlin inhaled deeply as she took the elevator down to the underbelly of the facility, where all their operations took place. The scents of the run-down version of home were growing on her, but it only made the sting of being cut off from her real dimension that much sharper.

Cisco had probably been up all night trying to open a breach, if she knew him. Barry had definitely lost sleep. Caitlin could picture Joe talking through the problem with his adoptive son, Iris joining them with warm drinks in the hopes of coaxing her fiancee into getting some rest. According to the team's Bluetooth connection—which was growing fuzzier with every passing hour—Wally had tried running quickly enough to create an opening between worlds himself, just after Barry had. In fact, he was probably still trying. He simply hadn't reached the speed the Flash could, and Caitlin knew he'd be down in the Speed Lab fighting to do his part. Somehow, whatever was happening, Kid Flash always ended up needing to prove himself.

Caitlin knew there wasn't a lot to be done on her end. She'd been awake far longer than she should have the night before, thinking until her eyes hurt. If some doomsday nonsense was interfering with the multiverse and the doorways between each Earth, one bioengineer wasn't able to make much of a difference. If she had the entire team backing her—if she had Cisco doing calculations and the Wests to point out the simplest options, things the geniuses in the room hadn't thought of, if she had Barry to execute whatever dangerous, crazy plan they came up with, then maybe she'd be back on Earth-1 in the next day or so.

But they weren't with her. So she'd have to sit tight while they worked—and she had a job of her own, speaking of which. What she'd come here to do: help Savitar.

That included breakfast in bed, and who could say no to breakfast in bed?

He was awake when she came in, sitting on the side of the bed pulling his shoes on. She was a little disappointed; the whole point of having breakfast in bed was to do it relaxed and lying down. For a moment, she felt silly—as if she were rewarding a little boy who'd behaved accordingly these past few days, and there was no need for that. Really, she just wanted to do something nice for him. Unnecessary, a little ridiculous, and certainly time-wasting—not her usual style—but it felt good anyway.

Savitar paused when she entered. His chin lifted a bit. "Is that the trolley from the med bay?"

Caitlin glanced down at the cart she was pushing. Normally, on Earth-1, she'd use this to bring food to the metahumans contained in the Pipeline. She would have used a nice little tray like in the movies, but for all the high-tech equipment and helpful items in this prestigious building, there was not a single tray sitting anywhere. The trolley was the next best thing.

"I didn't want to make two trips," Caitlin explained, flustered.

He nodded very slowly, obviously amused.

Caitlin took out a red cup from the nearest corner of the trolley and held it out to him. "And I brought Jell-O."

Savitar raised his eyebrows at the cup and took it, consuming a spoonful of the scarlet gelatin. He swallowed and shot her an exasperated glance. "There's medicine in it."

"Yes," she agreed hesitantly. "It's for your allergies."

Savitar resumed putting his shoes on, taking the time with the laces on the black Converse, probably deliberately. He could do everything in the time it took to inhale, and she wondered for a moment what was stopping him speeding up. "I don't still have a cold."

"Even with your healing abilities," Caitlin began, prepared for the argument, "running the way you do in weather like this is just going to tear your immune system apart." She held up a hand. "You might heal from it quicker than the rest of us would, but it's still bad for you and I am still going to prepare."

He sat up straight.

"I think," Savitar began with mock realization, pointing hard at her, "you just wanted to bring me Jell-O."

Caitlin grinned. "And a few dozen pastries from Jitters." She presented the unwrapped treats splayed out on the cart. "They were going to throw them out. Your calorie consumption has been suffering recently," she added, passing him a scone.

That ill-looking yellow light flashed around her and the trolley—Savitar was a blur, Caitlin's hair was hitting her in the face, and then he was at the door, pulling a brown napkin away from his mouth and tossing it into the little waste bin against the wall. He glanced at her and the now-empty trolley, looking bored and sleepy as usual.

"Are you bribing me for something, Doctor Snow?" Savitar demanded, squinting at her.

"What?"

He threw a hand out in her general direction. "You like my new clothes, now you're bringing me breakfast, what's going on?" He took his black denim jacket off of the metal table nearby and pulled it on slowly. "I already offered to run you back to Barry. Free of charge."

Caitlin was surprised and trying not to show it. He wasn't serious, was he? "I'm sorry, do you— _still_ not understand the concept of kindness?" she asked, making certain she didn't put any sarcasm in her tone. It was a genuine question, and she was baffled by his mood. When he just looked at her, she explained, "You're my friend. I…wanted to do something for you." She paused. "Be _cause_ you wanted to run me across the multiverse." A little shrug, a small smile. "If you can believe that."

Savitar's head reared; he smirked back. She should've been able to tell what he was thinking by now, but his expression remained mostly neutral, a twinkle of skepticism in there somewhere. Still, he admitted dryly, "I think I can be persuaded to try. You just can't stop helping, can you?" He walked back over to the trolley and took a blueberry muffin out of one of the paper bags.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. "You didn't eat it all," she realized aloud, pulling her mouth down in a _how about that_ gesture.

Savitar handed the pastry to her. "Don't tell me you bought _this_ for me." He tilted his head, and for a moment she was reminded of a puppy. It was a familiar gesture, more familiar than most of the others he made, even after the transmogrifier had done its work. "Jitters makes the best muffins on the planet. And there's only one in there."

It was a direct quote from his Earth-1 counterpart, whether he remembered that or not. _Jitters makes the best muffins on the planet._ The Flash had paid tribute to their favorite café's food multiple times before with those exact words, probably to each member of the team, at least once. The Scarlet Speedster could be passionate about anything, and food was no exception. Caitlin suddenly realized that hearing Savitar sound like Barry—or move like Barry, or do _anything_ like Barry—wasn't making her tense. It wasn't irritating anymore. In fact, looking at him then, there was a tangible absence of Barry Allen. She wasn't looking at a copy of her friend, she was looking at another friend, a different person, who had said something she recognized because he was in the loop.

The new angle was dizzying, and Caitlin found she was tilting her head right back at him. Her nose was wrinkling, the usual tell when she was confusing herself. She cleared her throat and assumed an expression she hoped was as gray as his normally was, catching a whiff of the now-cold muffin in her hand as she did so.

"Don't get too chummy," she warned after taking a bite. "I don't deserve it. Professor Stein is coming to work on the poison cure today—he'll probably be here for _hours_."

Savitar's smile slid off his face and he rolled his eyes. "When are you gonna stop bringing in strays?"

* * *

Professor Stein's first encounter with Savitar went about as well as Caitlin had expected.

The two scientists were indeed scheduled to begin work fixing what ailed Clarissa that day, but so far the actual execution was taking longer than expected. They still couldn't decide what medium was safest as far as a cure was concerned. Caitlin and Stein were sitting in the med bay, papers spread out across the examination table, looking over every inch of research they'd done on the gas sample.

Stein, esteemed mind that he was, all elbow patches and sharp eyes, looked adequately awkward—leaning over the pages, seated on his small metal stool. But it was clear from his expression that an unorthodox and unfamiliar setting was small potatoes when the key to his wife's recovery was this close to him.

"I would suggest a pill of some kind," he said after another moment of brooding silence between them, "but pills are meant to disintegrate and enter the patient's bloodstream—"

"And we can't be sure if the Mist's gas is in her bloodstream or just affecting her lungs," Caitlin finished, fingers curled near her mouth in a half-fist. She stood while he sat; she worked better moving around. "Like a permanent—a permanent _loop_ of damage in one area."

"The Mist?" Stein adjusted his glasses, squinting up at her.

Caitlin nodded absent-mindedly, moving one page to examine the one beneath it. "Nimbus."

"Fitting," Stein muttered, and the silence returned.

Caitlin liked to repeat information she'd memorized in her head, a sort of white noise she allowed herself in the background of her mind, while actually focusing on other problems to solve. She was doing this with some of the calculations lying on the examination table when Savitar's voice came screeching over the loudspeakers in the building—something Caitlin had just recently gotten up and working in the run-down version of S.T.A.R. Labs.

"Caitlin, come to the Cortex." The voice was full of static and was barely comprehensive. There was even a slight screech as the mic switched off.

Stein's head came up in surprise. "What on earth was that?"

Caitlin was already moving for the door, babbling nervously. "Savitar. I am so sorry, he should've just used the comms—the overheads are new—I'll be right back, I swear."

"Just a minute," Stein stood, following her at a determined pace. "I think it's time I met the man responsible for Nimbus' capture, don't you?"

Caitlin staggered in the corridors, pace faltering. "I don't…" She hesitated, wondering if there was a polite way to say this. Savitar wasn't making things easier, as usual. "I don't know if he's quite ready to see you yet, Professor."

But Stein didn't stop. He folded his hands behind his back, walking amiably in the direction of the Cortex, so that she hurried to catch up. "I may be wrong, Caitlin," he said impatiently, "but it doesn't seem likely that one can be a recluse _and_ a hero at the same time."

Caitlin tried not to grin at that, tried to look professional, but she noted the grandfatherly twinkle in his eye and decided to give in. "I never thought of it that way."

"I get that a lot."

They entered the Cortex, and Caitlin felt a sudden jolt as she realized she hadn't warned the speedster Stein was joining her. He could very well still be in civilian clothing, and Stein only knew him as the Flash. Well—not the _Flash_ , but he certainly had no idea what the man behind the black blur looked like.

She didn't have to worry. He was completely suited up, standing in the center of the room, and all the monitors were on. Caitlin wasn't sure if he'd anticipated her mistake or if he'd just come back from a run across the city, and really, it didn't matter to her—just as long as _some_ of their secrets remained secret.

Stein moved as if he were underwater, seeing the speedster there, vibrating slightly. He took in the outfit and the height and the posture, eyes clicking back and forth across Savitar's being until Caitlin felt he was doing some kind of mental scan. There was a mixture of reverence and intrigue in the way Stein watched the other man, and he seemed torn between moving forward to study the speedster further or staying where he was. Formal genius or fascinated scientist?

"Savitar," Stein said aloud, slowly. "There are a hundred things I could think of to say, but…" He actually smiled. "All I'm really getting at the moment is that I pictured you a little bigger."

Savitar's snort sounded odd while vibrating. He moved toward them, and Stein held out a hand, straightening his jacket and keeping the smile. But Savitar passed him without a glance—no malice in the gesture, just a genuine lack of interest in every movement, as if he could easily convince himself Caitlin was the only other human being in the room—and led the bioengineer to the nearest monitor.

"Look at this," Savitar ordered, tapping the screen once with a gloved finger so that the picture blurred for a moment.

Caitlin, shoving away the embarrassment at Savitar's usual impolite behavior, tried to shoot Stein an apologetic glance on her way behind the desk. Stein remained where he was, but he retracted his hand and his smile looked a little thinner. He caught Caitlin's expression and only dipped his head slightly, as if to say, _Sue me, you were right._

She turned her attention to the monitor, and Savitar busied himself dialing up the volume on every channel in the Cortex. The ones mounted on the wall had always been the loudest, even on Earth-1, and Stein winced when the speakers crackled and Sandra Peterson's voice filled the room.

Caitlin didn't hear much of what the interviewer said this time, but she gathered that what she was seeing had only just happened. She gawked at the scene on the screen; horrified to discover she recognized the setting. Her head whipped around to stare at Savitar, noting in the back of her mind how odd it was to stand beside a man whose entire body was vibrating. "Is that—"

"The police station." It was Stein who confirmed her fears, not Savitar. He was watching the wall monitors with his back to them, shoulders stiff. His voice was like iron.

The CCPD looked like a bomb had yawned nice and long in its lobby, long enough to take out the majority of the building. What was left was being licked, inside and out, with flames so hot, Caitlin could swear they were mainly just white, no yellow or orange involved. Every brick visible had been blackened, and the framework of the ceiling could be seen on the far-right corner. It was like looking at a toasted paperclip that had been bent into a rickety line. Around the building, little bits of rubble—ruined furniture that had been blasted outside, smoldering cars that had been parked closest, or just pieces of the police station itself—were stacked about knee-high.

Caitlin had been on a merry-go-round when she was four. It was one of her earliest memories. It was also one of the first things she'd ever deemed forbidden for herself—she'd gotten off of the playground ride and had promptly thrown up McDonald's fries all over her new shoes. On that day, she vowed never to eat McDonald's _and_ never to go on another revolving ride again. This included rollercoasters, giant spinning teacups, or playing a game of Simon Says in which Simon commands you to spin in circles until you fall down. Of course, working at S.T.A.R. Labs itself was a bit of a revolving ride at times—especially after having been engaged to Ronnie, who loved rollercoasters—but at least she'd kept her promise where McDonald's was concerned. She'd been sick for the rest of the day and a little into the next morning, as well, after that fateful trip on the merry-go-round.

Seeing the image onscreen had her reliving the moment she puked fries onto her light-up Sketchers. It was the best way to describe how her stomach was curling and complaining, and her heart was squeezing. Caitlin gaped at the news feed and wished, every time she blinked, that she'd wake up in bed. That this was a nightmare.

"All those people." Stein's tone had dropped, and he didn't turn around. "Madness. What kind of—"

Caitlin cut him off, jerking to her left to choke out at the speedster, "Savitar, you have—oh."

He was already gone.

Without wasting any time looking surprised, Caitlin scrambled to track his suit, switching on the comms and taking a seat as usual, then standing back up again in a fit of adrenaline. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up a digital schematic of the current charred building on one wall monitor, and keeping Sandra Peterson on the other. The nearest desk computer was keeping a lock on Savitar, while the one on her left held a street camera's live view of the surrounding area.

"Check for stragglers first," Caitlin ordered into the mic.

"I know," Savitar replied, voice curt and a little out of breath.

Stein came around to the other chair, but he didn't seem to feel like sitting either, instead holding onto its back with both hands and watching the hero's progress with narrowed eyes. Caitlin barely glanced at him—for a moment she was simply in S.T.A.R. Labs, working to save the day, and Professor Stein was there to help, same-old same-old.

Savitar's little dot onscreen dashed all the way around the outside of the building, then about a block away, back and forth. Occasionally he would run a bit farther, to the nearest hospital, then dip back toward the CCPD's remains. On the left-hand monitor, a slight blur appeared now and then, and in a few minutes, anyone outside the building had been blipped out of the picture by a strange blackish streak.

"That's the outer rim taken care of," Stein mumbled, almost to himself, studying the image with a fist near his chin but not quite touching it. He didn't appear to be admiring Savitar's speed anymore; just watching with a kind of _fingers-crossed_ expression as each civilian was sped to safety. "Now for the belly of the beast."

Caitlin pulled the mic a little closer. "There should be a clear opening on the south side," she said into it, making certain not to hold it _too_ close. There was no time for high-pitched static. "I can't make out any heat signatures indoors—the whole _thing_ is a heat signature. You'll have to find them on your own."

"How did this happen?" Stein cut in, eyes still digging into the live feed. "A bomb, or—or some kind of—"

"I don't know," Caitlin tried to control her tone; she knew she sounded snappish. She couldn't focus on their guest anymore, and suddenly she understood Savitar's lack of manners. At least, she hoped it had been this crisis fueling him and not just his usual moodiness. "And right now it doesn't matter. We can figure that out when this is over." She lurched closer to the mic, something catching her eye on the monitors Stein was watching. "Savitar, look out!"

 _EEEEEE!_ Caitlin heard the screech of the comms clutching the tail of her shout and scooted away from the mic, far more roughly than she would have normally. Almost spastically, actually; nerves were swamping her. She should have been used to this sort of thing by now, but seeing somewhere so familiar, so engrained in life on Earth-1—Barry and Joe's workplace, the police station itself—ruined like this was jarring. She was running on horror as well as adrenaline.

Part of the ceiling began crumpling as Savitar entered the building, and Caitlin had meant to warn him away from the debris, but she heard him say, "What?" against the static after the mic screamed at him. She couldn't be sure he'd understood her.

The dot signifying his location on the monitor barely moved and Caitlin felt icy panic make the ends of her fingers numb.

"Savitar!" Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears—had she been bellowing this whole time? A glance at Stein didn't give her any answers. He looked back at her, expression quite frozen, mouth slightly open in alarm, looking at the dot onscreen and licking his lips. Caitlin tried again. "Savitar, answer me!"

Stein was staring at her, she could see out of the corner of her eye, with an odd look written all across his face. The way he tilted his head gave Caitlin the fleeting, back-of-her-mind impression of the time she'd recognized a high school friend once in a grocery store simply by the way they walked. Stein acted as if he were seeing something similar.

But Caitlin wasn't dwelling much on their guest. She was nearly ready to hit the desk, the screen, maybe Stein, anything. This sort of feeling, the helplessness, came far too often.

He was the Flash, he had super speed, he couldn't have been felled by a collapsing rooftop. That was ridiculous. No, he was _not_ the Flash, but he _did_ have super speed and why wasn't he responding? He never did what he was told. The next call came out sharp and angry, though all she really felt was fear.

" _Savitar_!"

" _What_?"

She sat down hard in the chair, hands flying to her head very briefly before reaching for the mic. He sounded irritated, and she took a deep breath, pausing, trying to ensure her tone didn't mirror his.

"Are you okay?" she demanded.

They didn't have a live feed of the building's interior. Caitlin could only see the digital blueprint and the little signature on the monitor that was supposed to be Savitar. She had no way of actually knowing if he was physically intact; all she could gather was that he had barely moved an inch and a ceiling beam had just collapsed in his vicinity.

"I'm fine," Savitar replied, some of the irritation dropping out to be replaced with wariness. "It barely touched me."

"Are you telling the truth?" Caitlin practically spat into the mic. She could feel Stein's interest and mild surprise beside her, feel him analyzing the conversation—not in a rude way, in a default-setting kind of way. He was always studying and thinking. He apparently deemed Caitlin's question unexpected: superheroes didn't lie, did they?

But Caitlin had cleaned one too many bullet wounds in the past few months to romanticize the words of a man who—very often, though less so recently—did not want her help.

"Yes, Caitlin," Savitar sighed. Over the comms, the sound was like hearing a stick of chalk exhaling. "I'm faster than a piece of wood, I promise."

"Or a two-by-twelve joist set aflame," Stein muttered, knuckles near his mouth again. His bioengineer companion didn't hear him.

Caitlin closed her eyes, but she wasn't counting to ten or praying for patience this time. She was trying to still her heartbeat, which seemed to be galloping down some long hallway without stopping for rest. Too many people she cared very much about had been seriously hurt when she sat behind this desk, multiverse or no. You'd think by now, the very scent of the Cortex would give her anxiety, dye her memory with traumatic experiences and loss. By some miracle, it was instead a haven of loyalty and love. She wasn't keen on adding one more damaged friend to tilt the scales in the other direction. The thought of losing Savitar—even to something as ridiculous as a beam of wood—had pumped her body full of nausea faster than she'd believed possible. In true Doctor Snow fashion, her mind had instantly darted to the worst-case scenario.

And she was becoming less and less surprised by the affection that made all her worry possible.

"This place is nothing but smoke and it's coming down fast," Savitar cut through the silence again, curt and determined. "If I'm gonna find anyone left in here, I need to see first."

"According to the broadcasters, there are four fire engines heading that way," Stein informed them helpfully, nodding to the wall monitor. "Of course, time is of the essence here. I'm afraid I don't know the full extent of your powers just yet, but—might I suggest a form of aerokineses?"

"That's _Barry's_ parlor trick," Savitar growled. A crackling noise issued somewhere in the background—something else was falling. Caitlin watched his dot shoot to another corner of the crumbling building.

"I'm sorry, whose?" Stein's hand drew away from his mouth. He glanced at Caitlin, baffled.

"We don't have time for this right now, Savitar!" Caitlin huffed.

She knew exactly what Stein was referring to—both Barry and, by extension, Savitar, and quite possibly every speedster, had the ability to suck oxygen out of the air by winding their arms at super speed to create a vortex. There were two problems with this humbly-offered solution, and the first was that Savitar had already refused to try it once, on a previous mission. This explained why he'd been unwilling the last time: anything that had to do with Barry, he was determined to detach himself from. Of course, here recently it seemed he preferred picking and choosing, rather than cutting himself off from the Flash's life altogether.

The other problem was less incriminating and she let it out for Stein's benefit. "But he's never performed a vortex on a fire this big," she pointed out. "We don't know that he can extinguish it all. At the very least he might free up one side of the building while the rest just…"

"Burns harder and faster, neglected," Stein finished, nodding. "I did say it was just a suggestion."

"All right, you know what, forget it. I'm gonna try it," Savitar interrupted. He sounded a bit out of breath this time. "First time's the charm, right? It's hot in here. And I don't hear any other bright ideas."

Caitlin blinked. _First time_. She'd spoken as if he, Savitar, had done this before. She wanted to hit herself with her own shoe. "Okay, just— _please_ be careful. From here on out, don't take unnecessary risks. This isn't your usual firefighter routine."

"And—if this _does_ work, you'll need to watch out for civilians in the path of your dual vortexes. I imagine suffocation doesn't look good on a hero's ledger," mused Stein.

Caitlin shot him a small, quick smile. He was thinking of the important things, the things Team Flash usually didn't focus on in a high-stress situation like this. She wondered if Savitar had even heard; she could already make out the distinct, static-filled _whoosh_ of the vortex making its way into the air.

A few minutes passed, and Caitlin could hear Savitar losing breath and starting again. They watched the dot on the screen move from room to room, and on the opposite screen the flames reaching up and out of the rubble were, little by little, dying down.

"That's it!" Caitlin cried. "You're doing it!"

"Don't get too excited," Savitar replied dryly between gasps. "You've seen it before."

"Remarkable," Stein commented, glancing at Caitlin. "You have a front row seat to his abilities, his feats of valor, any time? One might go so far as to call you _lucky_ , Miss Snow. Working with one of these _metas_ , as you call them, who actually puts his powers to good use."

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. "Sometimes I'm lucky," she mumbled, turning back to the computer. "Other times I'm having an aneurism—Savitar, that's enough," she added, seeing less and less of the flames on the news feed. "The fire department can do the rest—right now we need to focus on getting everyone out."

"If there are indeed any survivors," Professor Stein said under his breath. Caitlin glanced up at him, but his expression was hooded, his lips tight.

The next few minutes were quieter ones. The only indication that the two in S.T.A.R. Labs had that Savitar had found anyone in the building was the sight of his dot racing from the charred CCPD to the hospital. Stein seemed torn between fiddling with his cuff links and rotating the digital schematic with the mouse, clicking and dragging, desperate for something else to do. Back and forth Savitar went, not commenting on what he found (a mercy), until he paused on the outside of the structure for the final time, a grunt of surprise making Caitlin sit up straighter.

"Is that everyone?" she asked.

Savitar coughed a bit into the mic, and Caitlin and Stein both leaned away from it, as if that would dampen the piercing sound the comms produced. "Looks like it."

"Then…why have you stopped?" Stein demanded. "Surely there's more to be done?"

"It's Wally."

The name sent Caitlin's stomach churning again. "Wally?" She pictured the burn marks, remembered the last time she'd had to sit here while Savitar found an alternate version of her young friend in the wreckage. Her heart started galloping again. This wasn't the same as the EXPO, this was worse, what if…

"He's fine," Savitar assured her, voice still gravelly. "He's across the street."

"See what he wants and stay in touch," Caitlin sighed, running a hand through her hair. She half expected white to start showing up in the caramel-colored locks soon—and not because of those hidden icy superpowers.

Two or three coughs sent the comms fizzling before Savitar cracked, "Whatever happened to please and thank you?" On Caitlin's left, Stein chortled, and for a moment she was reminded of the camaraderie in Earth-1's Cortex.

As they waited for the speedster to approach the youth, a few seconds of silence ensued at last in the room, and Caitlin leaned back in her chair, steadying her breathing.

Stein broke the quiet with an awkward, "Er…who is— _Wally_?" He said the name as if it were that of a cartoon character's, a title he was embarrassed to know about and whose use he resented the necessity of. Not the sort of moniker he'd come up with for his own child, Caitlin was sure.

She blinked at the realization that both Earth-66's _and_ Earth-1's Professor Stein had never met Kid Flash. Recovering, Caitlin flapped a hand dismissively at her genius friend. "I'll explain later."

* * *

Wally had his phone out.

Savitar tried not to be irritated with him for it, but god or not, that was a battle he was constantly losing. It didn't help that his throat felt like it had been soaked in the color black. All he could taste was smoke.

The cliché that any millennial would be taking pictures and videos of a tragedy, rather than getting as far away from it as possible or phoning their loved ones, was being realized by a boy who—on another version of Earth—balanced grades and coffee addiction with a high-speed vow to protect and defend the innocent, whatever it took. Earth-66's West was, if it were possible, proving more disappointing than the original. _We're in the same boat, then_ , he thought to himself, sliding to a halt a few feet behind the kid.

Wally seemed to sense the on-and-off hero's presence, turning almost immediately. He had indeed been taking pictures; Savitar saw the screen a second before it faded to black as West pocketed the phone. A smile didn't spring to the boy's face at the sight of him this time, but there was definitely a light that flickered across his expression.

"Thank God you're here," Wally breathed, and Savitar looked away, shaking his head a bit. What was it about that reaction that made him want to drill someone into the ground? Was it the irony? "I've been—"

"What are you doing here?" Vibrating your vocal chords was like getting that itchy, tickling sensation in the back of your throat before getting sick times a thousand. He hadn't done it as often as Barry had; his pervious metal suit had changed his tone for him, and doing it manually was getting old. Especially when his lungs felt like they were made of burnt cookie crumbs.

"I was looking through my dad's old file," Wally explained, swallowing. "I've seen it like a thousand times, but—I dunno. I thought maybe…now that you're on the job…I dunno," he repeated, looking at the ground, pursing his lips. "I thought I could help. I know I haven't gotten Eddie down there yet for—"

"Eddie!" Caitlin's voice burst through Savitar's right ear. He winced and his hand flew up to the comms embedded in the material of his suit; Wally broke off, watching the sudden movement. Caitlin went on, "He's a detective here, the CCPD—I can't believe we forgot Eddie—" That last part must've been to Stein as it was a bit quieter, who was surely thoroughly confused by all the names at this point. She was forgetting he basically only knew _her_ here, not the rest of her Earth-1 troop.

She went on in slight hysterics for a moment more. Savitar wagged his head hard, knowing she couldn't tell he wanted her to shut up, but it made him feel better.

He glanced at Wally, eyebrows dipping. Nothing on West's face or in his voice indicated Eddie was in fatal condition, and Savitar hadn't found him—or his remains—anywhere in the ruined structure. All the same, without audible confirmation, Caitlin would insist he go racing off to find Thawne, and he had better things to do today.

"Eddie," Savitar began, chin jerking upward once. "Was he here?" He nodded to the destroyed building.

"Huh?" Wally waved both hands, almost smiling now. "Oh—no—no, no, he's good. Yeah, he's…he's off on Saturdays. He didn't know I was here, the place just blew up when I got about a block away…"

He continued explaining, but Savitar wasn't in the present anymore. He was remembering many Saturdays on Earth-1, in the past, when Iris was unavailable for pizza or movie night or talking Joe into a game of _Sorry!_ to unwind. Unavailable, suddenly, because her boyfriend had claimed her time every chance he got. And the only chance he really had was on his days off. There was the odd time, Savitar recalled, where Thawne had to rush away from date night with Iris to join Joe in some emergency call from the station, but mainly Saturdays were Eddie's Iris-hogging days. He could remember the slow, steady ache and the surreal hole those weekends left in his life. Almost any Saturday before Eddie showed up in their lives, Iris was there and boredom, loneliness, and general stagnation was nonexistent.

The perks of being a time remnant? He was used to that gap, much more in tune with it than Barry could be now. He hadn't had an Iris West Saturday in…well, something like two-thousand years? They grow up so fast. He wondered what Eddie Thawne-66 did on his days off when there was no Iris to monopolize those precious 24 hours.

"You know who did this, right?"

Wally's voice tore him from his bitterness.

Caitlin and Savitar both seemed to come to the blatantly-obvious conclusion at the same time. He heard her inhale shakily in his ear while his own breathing came out long and slow.

"Rory," he grunted.

"Heat Wave," Caitlin confirmed simultaneously.

"I really think we should discuss your nicknaming habits." That was Stein, somewhere in the background.

Savitar ignored them both. Wally was nodding. "This all happened because of him—way too fast to be arson by somebody without powers. There's never been a fire like this in Central City. It's like—supernatural, almost." Wally took out his phone and showed Savitar the pictures of the building just ten minutes after the initial explosion for proof. "And it happened just an hour ago."

"Which means Rory is nearby," Savitar realized, fingers curling into his palms. Heat Wave couldn't have gone far on his own. Probably hiding out in some nearby building, surveying his handiwork.

"We have no way of knowing where he could be," Caitlin interrupted over the comms. "You can't go tracking him down now."

The speedster's voice came out raspier than he wanted it to; he coughed at least six times before responding.

"The trail's gonna get colder if I don't," Savitar argued, dismissing Wally's interested look at the one-sided conversation he was hearing.

"You sound like you've been drinking acid, Savitar." She was wearing her Personal Physician tone. "Come back to S.T.A.R. Labs. The stronger you are, the easier it'll be when you finally _do_ catch him."

Savitar glanced at Wally, whose entire posture screamed _waiting for orders_. The hero was happy to oblige, albiet gruffly. "Don't go looking for Rory."

Wally's eyebrows puckered. "You're not gonna find him?"

"Not today," Savitar replied, turning. He did his best to restrain yet another cough. "The best thing you can do to help," he added harshly, "is to stay out of trouble and out of the way."

* * *

Stein and Caitlin were theorizing when Savitar came through the entrance to the Cortex.

"If what you say is true," Stein was muttering, hands gesturing wildly, "and from what you've told me it sounds like that may be the case—this group of _metahumans_ appear to be creating some kind of terroristic pattern."

"What do you mean?" Caitlin asked, coming around the white winding desk to approach Savitar as the speedster coughed repeatedly into an elbow. Running had clearly hampered his breathing further.

"The bank, the EXPO, now the police station—which, if you ask me, is the worst blow yet—they all seem to be motivated by creating mass hysteria," Stein explained, nodding to the news feed. "It's blatant targeting, your Heat Wave. A power-play, perhaps, but if he _is_ in the same league as Nimbus…" he spat the name as if he could taste the poison gas himself, "The ultimate question is, who are these men working _for_? Obviously they have an agenda. Who gave it to them? It seems unlikely they should come up with these patterns between the two of them."

"They both mentioned being under orders," agreed Caitlin, pointing at him. "That's what we—"

"Caitlin," Savitar rasped.

She glanced quickly at him, guilt poking her. She'd been too preoccupied having another beautiful mind to spitball with. It had been too long since she'd worked with Cisco. Her top priority at this moment was the man currently

"Water," Savitar demanded, coughing yet again, harder. It sounded like he had a mouthful of nails.

"Sorry, sorry…" Caitlin hurried to bring him a glass, using the sink on the dais where most of the lab equipment sat, still dusty. She passed it to him and watched him empty it in half a second, hooded mask still down. She looked at Stein, who continued watching the news feed. "Professor, I need to take him to the med bay for an X-ray…"

Stein jumped a little, turning to face the two of them. "Oh, of course," he stammered. "I'll just—eh, see myself out." He smiled at Savitar, who watched him through watering eyes. "It's been an extraordinary morning. I daresay… _fun_. Strategizing and helping where I could." He paused. "That is, once you omit the crisis our law enforcement is dealing with right about now. Obviously."

"Obviously." Caitlin smiled back in Savitar's place. "I promise we'll pick up where we left off tomorrow, Professor."

"Rest assured," Stein said as they all left the Cortex, "I'll hold you to that, Miss Snow."

* * *

The X-ray proved it. Savitar's lungs looked like the end of a mascara brush. The coughing had been gradual on the comms, a touch more disturbing during his conversation with Wally, and was now almost nonstop. Had he been treated on the site, or maybe walked part of the way back rather than running at super speed, it may not have been affecting him quite this thickly upon his return to S.T.A.R. Labs. But of course, he didn't think things through. Hardly ever. And Caitlin was used to it, she was, but it seemed traditional to allow a bit of frustration to leak out as she turned the X-ray off and pulled the generator back into its wall holder.

"You do know our growing little bond is the only thing that's keeping me from locking you in the Pipeline right now," Caitlin informed him tartly, passing him his fourteenth glass of water. "What do I have to do to keep you from taking risks? From doing something stupid?"

Savitar didn't respond for a good two minutes, trying to control the bought of coughing and wheezing claiming his vocal chords. Finally he said, "Caitlin—" a bit more coughing into a rag she handed him "—I can't see anything—" He sounded more exasperated than concerned.

"It's the smoke." Caitlin told him with a glance at the image the radiograph had provided. "Blurry vision is a basic symptom of someone exposed to too much. It should pass momentarily with your healing capabilities. Luckily, we won't be in here doing any high-stress level medical procedures this time. Most of the symptoms should come and go much faster for you than they would other people." She shot him a look, shrugging a shoulder indifferently, the picture of the old maternal, _I told you not to do such-and-such and this is what happens when you disobey me, sorry_. She was aware it was an insufferable stance to take when someone was coughing their innards out, but how much raw idiocy was she supposed to take with a sweet smile and some ibuprofen? "Same-old, same-old."

Savitar was too busy with his rattly breathing to toss a snarky remark her way, for once. He'd pulled the hood of his suit down and his hair was a bit wild, matted in some areas. His eyes leaked and leaked—red around the edges, and the tiniest traces of blood appeared on the rag he'd been hacking into. One hand pressed to his chest as if by applying pressure, he could ease the pain there.

"Here." She handed him two tablets. "Normally I would use a bronchodilator, or manufacture an actual antidote, but as a metahuman, all you should really need to beat this are a few steroids."

Savitar downed them without a drink, without hesitation. He shut his eyes for a moment, clearly holding back another barrage of coughing. Caitlin put the steroids away and tidied up the workspace, both from the X-rays and the project she and Stein had been working on. A few papers still lay on the examination table.

The speedster got up, leaving the rag on the floor. "Too bad I kept my suit back on your Earth," he muttered, voice like sandpaper. "It's designed to filter out things like smoke and poison gas." He leaned back, hands resting on the countertop. "I guess I'm better at costume-making than Ramon when it comes to, you know, the actually- _helpful_ stuff."

Caitlin treated him to a withering glare. "I know how to perform a lobotomy," she warned.

He snorted a laugh at that. Then he shrugged. "Maybe if I hadn't left it behind, this wouldn't've happened."

"Maybe," Caitlin pointed out, looking up at him out of hooded lashes, "but the metal armor was not a good look for you."

Savitar hopped back up onto the counter, thumbs sliding absent-mindedly across its rim for want of something to do. His eyebrows rose teasingly, but the bite that colored his tone when they'd first arrived on Earth-66 was extinct. "I think you're just saying that because everyone looks good in black leather, Doctor Snow."

Caitlin tried to think of a retort that would disprove this line of thought, but looking at him then, she came up blank. He did look good in black leather. He looked good in black, actually, was what it was. Not that she'd seen him wearing any other color. She'd seen _Barry_ wearing other colors, but it wasn't quite…it wasn't the same thing—

Shaking herself out of the mental babbling with briefly-shut eyes, she felt a smile quirk as the perfect argument flickered into her mind at last.

"The Trickster?" she countered, mimicking his raised-eyebrow look.

Savitar exhaled in a puckered sort of way, turning his head to show his profile in everything but a wince. "Yikes," he rasped, chortling. Maybe he was picturing it for a moment, the way she had. The Trickster in motorcyclist-esque leather. The Trickster in leather at all? The Trickster? No thank you.

Caitlin grinned. "I didn't think so."

As his little breath of a laugh died out and Caitlin went on cleaning up, a comfortable silence hugged the med bay. He'd saved the day again. Wally was all right, Eddie was alive by some miracle, and Stein had proven useful on an actual mission. Everything boded well—everything except Rory. Everything except what he'd done to the police station. Caitlin hated to think of all the people caught in that fire…and then, to a lesser extent, all the important documents, all that valuable, government information, destroyed. Where would the force hold court now? Was it Rory's mission to weaken the police, allowing crime to run rampant on Central City-66? Stein was right. Caitlin was positive of it—Heat Wave and the Mist were both answering to someone.

"You didn't sleep last night."

Caitlin stood up, away from the floor cabinet she'd been restocking. "Savitar, not this again…"

Savitar spoke over her, as per the norm. "I can tell you didn't sleep because you're moving slow. Slow _er_." He was holding one of she and Stein's note sheets. "This why?"

 _One. Two. Three. Four._ Caitlin shook her head. "Yes. Saving Stein's wife is more important than getting the odd eight hours of sleep."

"Oh," Savitar's tongue clicked. "So—it's okay if _you_ want to run your body down, but if I want to hunt a couple of big bad metas late at night, I get a time-out?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Caitlin snatched the sheet out of his hand, setting it back down with the others on the examination table. "It's not the same thing. I missed _one_ night of rest and you missed over four whole days. That's a big difference."

Savitar got up and approached her, arms folded. He seemed like an imposing teacher bearing down on a student who had been caught distracting their classmates, taller and broader than she was.

"You're my personal physician," he stated quietly, in what was very close to a warning tone.

Caitlin blinked up at him. "Yes," she mumbled. "I am." Eloquent. Why was he looking at her with eyes like cotton? For a split second she remembered the smoke and wondered if he was going to cough, this close to her. It was times like these her basket-case mind supplied the most distracting of images. Maybe it was the fact that he'd finally claimed her as his doctor, she wasn't sure, but at the moment her heart felt very warm and fast. Maybe it was because cotton eyes looked a lot like genuine care.

"You're not allowed to lose sleep," Savitar went on, with a very Barry look of responsibility. His voice was still soft. "See, because if _you_ lose sleep, _I_ don't get proper treatment."

Caitlin's brows dipped. "Treatment?"

"And I'm not having a personal physician who can't do her job right." Savitar pulled away from her and Caitlin felt like she could breathe again, as if she'd been eating a spoonful of peanut butter and had just washed it down with cold water. He moved around to the other side of the examination table and studied one or two of the pages splayed across it. "So let's get this over with."

"I'm sorry?" She was feeling a bit dazed. Must be the lack of sleep, affecting her after all.

"You need a medium to feed to Stein's wife." Savitar looked up, mismatched eyes sharp. "Fight gas with gas."

Now she was getting a headache. So much confusion in just three minutes. This bioengineer was not used to a lack of understanding.

"Fight gas with gas," she repeated dumbly. Preposterous.

"Create a chemical that'll eradicate whatever Nimbus' has that's killing her—" Savitar searched for the next words, winding a hand in the air the way his Earth-1 counterpart often did when explaining. "—ab _sorb_ it—force it out."

Caitlin's mind flew across this picture, danced through it, jumped in no particular shape, trying to let it sink in. It shouldn't work—but there was a lot about it that made sense. They were dealing in metahuman problems here, everything was already impossible. If they could make it instantly degradable, get it in, let it do its job, and ensure it would dissipate without further, additional affects to Clarissa's system…

"It's a pretty bold idea," she muttered aloud, still thinking.

"Well." Savitar smiled. "You know me. Stupid risks."

She felt her matching smile grow and spread slow across her face. First he'd agreed to help Wally, then he'd offered to run her to Earth-1, now he was trying to cure poor old Clarissa Stein.

"If I didn't know any better, Savitar, I'd say you were trying to butter me up for something."

"Bribe you?" Savitar tossed back, narrowing his eyes.

"Get on my good side," agreed Caitlin.

Savitar's arms supported him as he leaned on the examination table, watching her. "Is it working?" he asked dryly.

She wandered around the table to join him, bumping him slightly with a shoulder. Unnecessary, but it caught his smile just before it faded off. She could always count on him to respond warmly to physical touch at this point. "I'm optimistic," she quipped, picking up a pen. Trying not to notice those cotton eyes and the smell of copper as she worked.

Time for some new calculations.

* * *

 **(Author's Note: Give me all your thoughts! I don't deserve it, so you don't have to, but you know how I love your reviews. NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON! I kid you not, this time soon means soon. Love you all, thanks for sticking around! ~Doverstar)**


	30. Chapter 30: The Sub

**(Author's Note: BOOM! Seven thousand words: even! Hopefully this'll whet your appetite before the next chapter, which I've already started in anticipation of this month's crazy business for me. Maybe we'll finish this fic by Christmas? I love you, Jell-O Squares! It's gotten to the point where I recognize some of your personalities in those reviews and I look forward to hearing from each of you! Thank you for sticking with me. Enjoy! -Doverstar)**

* * *

It was cold in the sewers.

This was favorable if you were plotting dastardly deeds; it helped to get you in the mood. The walls were cold, the ground was cold, the colors were cold, and of course, the sewage itself was freezing. You didn't get sunlight down beneath Central City, just rats and generally-bad smells.

The cold was welcome to him, to the mind behind the chaos above, but the same could not be said of Mick Rory.

Rory appeared to hate the cold. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Apparently, he had been a pyromaniac _before_ the particle accelerator had made him all warm and fuzzy inside, and being down in the old 'underground lair' was dreadfully against his nature. Almost zero heat at all down below the city, and it never failed to put the homely-looking pawn in a sour mood. He wasn't clever enough to know how to work a toaster, let alone steal a heater for his own room—one that had been _graciously_ offered, here in the underbelly.

When Rory returned to the cavern, his master was watching a small screen in the corner, plugged into one of the only outlets in the entirety of the city's tunnels.

"How did it go, mate?" called the lean figure perched near the television. He could hear Mick jump at the sound; clearly the pyro hadn't noticed him sitting there. Keep people on their toes. No one was truly entertained when they were comfortable.

Rory's voice was tired, held more gravel than usual. "On the news. See for yourself."

"I'm watching something just a touch more interesting," sighed his superior, standing in a backwards kind of way that made his shadow do some impressive choreography. "Only channel we've got, I'm afraid. You'll just have to answer my question the way intelligent people do—directly."

Rory blew into his hands, a slight glow flickering over his face. He now held a few tiny embers, keeping him warm. All over, his skin was tinged raspberry red. Smoke curled, just visible, out of his mouth. "Ashes. All I had to do was walk in." He grinned, showing teeth that badly required some kind of professional orthodontic treatment. "The whole place is a big pile of rubble in the middle of downtown. You shoulda seen the flames." He exhaled slowly. "Pure white. Glorious."

"So sad I missed it." He narrowed his eyes at the wistful expression Rory wore. "You didn't stay and watch, I trust?"

Rory spat, right on the ground, very near his leader's soft-soled shoes. Grumpily, almost like a child denied a second helping of dessert, he asserted, "No. Nobody saw me." He paused. "I could've done more. I could've burned them all. There wouldn't've been a cop left in this town…"

"But our quick little friend stepped in to save the day yet again." He nodded, sliding his hands casually into his pockets. Rory eyed the movement and grew stiff, wary. "Not to worry, old boy, I know all about his rescue mission. He was late. He had extra help, someone wearing elbow patches and frankly _atrocious_ specs—and still late. I expected him to turn up just as it all went up in smoke, but unfortunately, he took his time."

Rory scowled. "What if he'd caught me?"

"Were you planning on being caught?" A dangerous tilt sharpened the edge of his tone. He looked Rory in the eyes, and the pyro became even stiffer.

Rory didn't respond, licking his lips, but after a moment he shook his head.

A broad smile sprang to his mouth. "I've got his name, you know. _Savitar_. I was looking in the wrong place. Don't think we'll be needing a gun to slow him down anymore."

Rory, clearly thrown by the change of subject, tilted his head. A blank look cast a film over both eyes and his jaw slackened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's pawned the title from the Hindu god of motion." A hand flicked this way and that dismissively. "A proper name. Shame, I was really, honestly beginning to enjoy our little nicknaming game. _Freak. Running man._ It's been good fun."

"You knew he was gonna show up?" Rory took a step nearer, all shoulders and meaty hands. "He could've made me and you were just sitting down here in your creepy—"

"Now be careful, Sparky, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were cross with me." He showed his own teeth in a bigger grin than Rory's, putting some convincing, clichéd snarl into it. "You remember what it is to pick a fight with yours truly?"

Rory's eyes darted to his left wrist, but he was like rock again in an instant. His silence was submission enough, and the man standing across from him seemed to relax at the quiet, hands coming out of his pockets empty, to the pyro's relief.

"Yes, I knew he'd be there. Not soon enough to save the station, barely soon enough to save every squirming little pedestrian, but honestly—did you think he'd miss it? You were live on television, Rory. How did those fifteen minutes of fame feel, eh?" Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the screen, long arms twisting behind his back. "Not to worry! He's practically beaten already. The things I've learned, mate—he's really crushed where he stands." A too-loud laugh. Rory jumped again. "Simply follow orders, my friend; we needn't fret over _the God of Speed_ any longer. Lisa did well."

"Snart?" snorted Rory skeptically. "What'd _she_ do?" It was no secret that he and the talented young lady were rivals, hardly the best of buddies. Rory was too blunt, hot-headed, slightly insane. Lisa certainly wasn't _all there_ herself, but she had enough mellow in her to clash with the pyro, and obviously carried a bossy streak.

His pawns didn't need to know _every_ detail, everything _he_ knew, but he could spare this. He could flaunt this. This was like juicy gossip, except it was better, because it would probably end with a dead body somewhere and that was much more fun than whispers and obvious glances. It was worth it, spilling the beans. Just a little. They knew the overall plan, but he'd added something new—something that would remove the leather-clad hero from the picture. Should the need arise, anyway.

"She gave me a window." He tapped the screen jovially with one nail. "The speedster has a chip in his armor."

* * *

It hadn't taken too long to get Professor Stein on board the whole _fight gas with gas_ train. The man was all but desperate for even the slightest change in his wife's condition, and drunk—but very intelligently so—on the hope of reviving her faculties altogether. Caitlin could relate; she'd experienced the same wild abandon at the thought of having Ronnie back from the dead the first time. But though it only took an hour to set the two scientists on the same page, Stein still had several problems with the theory.

The first thing he'd done, almost reluctantly—with a tone bordering on patronization—was to peddle out a list of reasons why this plan would fail. He'd produced copies of his Clarissa's X-rays on his phone, and while Caitlin studied the scarring around the air sacs, the deep-seated inflammation of her lungs, Stein began calculating on the glass demonstration board. It was only after he'd filled every inch of space with his scribbles that Caitlin understood where the disconnect had been formed.

"Professor." Caitlin had set the phone down on the white winding desk, taking up a rag to wipe away all his work, shifting her weight with barely-disguised excitement. And maybe a little pride. "We're not talking about an actual gas. Its construct will be… _similar_ to that of a gaseous substance, but what it will _actually_ be…" She abandoned the rag in favor of she and Savitar's calculations the night before, handing it to the older gentleman.

Stein's free hand flicked up to his glasses, as if he wanted to take them off, the way people did in movies when they were surprised. In the end, he chose actual 20/20 vision, simply gripping the paper tighter to contain his interest. He glanced up at Caitlin, gaping like a fish, only for a moment—but it made him look that much younger.

"It isn't a gas you're suggesting at all," he agreed, nearly breathless. "It's an absorbant."

"Something that we can release into her body's airway that will soak up the toxicity—"

"—and disappear altogether," finished Stein, just sparkling all over. "Barely a second after. Miss Snow," he said, finally taking the glasses off to better look her in the eye, "how is it that you and your friend were able to think of something so ludicrous, so

off-the-mark—something I never _once_ thought of in four years of agonizing theories…in just a few months? And—" He actually chuckled. It was a grandfatherly sound, something that made him even warmer. "How is it that out of seven billion people on the planet, I happened to run into _you_ at precisely the right moment in a coffee shop downtown? The very person who might end up saving my wife's life?"

He looked so made of amber and putty then. Glowing and soft. It was fascinating to watch a scientist—one with several awards—succumb to something like wonder.

"Coincidence?" she suggested, grinning.

Stein smiled back. "Science's mortal enemy."

This was what she'd wanted when she took the Hippocratic Oath. This was why she'd partnered with Dr. Wells, why she'd become a bioengineer, a doctor. For that look of pure light she was seeing on Stein's face, the look that said there was, in fact, hope. And she'd helped put it there, that fragile expression. At times like these, she thought even saving the day with the Flash couldn't compare.

She reached for her gloves. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Her powers practically gorged themselves on the chill in the air.

However uncomfortable the cold could make the human part of Caitlin, she knew without running any tests that the meta side of her felt right at home in the autumn wind. Octobers on Earth-66 seemed just as icy as the ones back home, and Killer Frost was relishing the bite of it. Caitlin knew she shouldn't have to worry as long as the snowflake pendant hung from her neck, but she tucked her yellow scarf a little more firmly around her shoulders, resisting the urge to make sure the necklace was still there underneath all the layers.

It wasn't that having actual superhuman abilities frightened her. It was the lack of control. If she'd just woken up one morning with ice in her veins, able to make it snow for Christmas Eve and never have another unbearable summer afternoon for the rest of her life—maybe even help Barry take down a few of the unrulier metahumans—that would've been fine. A big adjustment, a little stressful, but eventually she would learn to live with it.

The difference was that Barry and Cisco had come home from Earth-2 with tales of her _evil_ doppelganger. A Caitlin Snow who was able and, worse, _willing_ to harm others with the same powers. She'd tried to kill the Flash. A person in direct contrast to Caitlin herself. Earth-1's Doctor Snow. And now that she _had_ these powers—thanks to Barry's misguided, grief-stricken trip into the timelines—all she could think was that they were, at their core, wicked. That she'd become just the same as Earth-2's version. That she'd want to hurt people and would only care about herself. Killer Frost was the physical manifestation of these abilities. She was every inch of the cold and bitterness Caitlin possessed somewhere deep down.

And she had already come _this close_ to changing into Frost for the long run once. She was overly cautious about the chances of it happening a second time. Scarves and big black coats were a start.

Currently she was walking back to the bus stop, carrying takeout Chinese food in both hands. After a long morning of antidote-manufacturing with Professor Stein, she'd worked up a big appetite. Caitlin had just managed to convince him not to cancel his noon lecture in favor of the task at S.T.A.R. Labs. Real life still needed to press on, and the chemicals wouldn't be ready to test in a controlled environment until the next day. Any longer and she would've been suffering from a slight headache, wearing those safety goggles for hours.

A familiar flash of yellowish light could be seen in the distance, and Caitlin's step faltered for a moment as it came nearer, and in a heartbeat—with a rush of wind—the figure had passed her.

She'd seen plenty of speedsters. She'd been in the room several times when Barry had demonstrated his incredible powers. But it was always a rush to see it in person. Every time. What was it like, going that fast? There couldn't be anything like it in the world.

Funny how many people actually received those particular superpowers. The fact that it had happened more than once was anomaly upon anomaly.

She resumed walking, only to have her hair whisk irritatingly around her face as the yellow light returned.

Savitar stopped running right beside her, plodding along as if he'd gone to get lunch _with_ her an hour ago and they were now walking to the bus stop together. He was in civilian clothes by this time, and had snatched one of the containers in her hand a second earlier.

"This isn't gonna stay warm if you walk," he informed her dryly, reaching in to pop a piece of sweet and sour chicken into his mouth.

"Parking downtown on this Earth is just as much of a pain as it is on the first one. I took the bus."

Savitar snorted and tapped the comms Bluetooth device hanging around his neck like a pair of headphones. "If you wanted food, all you had to do was call."

Caitlin faltered, glancing at him. "Are you saying you would've gotten it?"

"I eat," he reminded her, hands sliding into his pockets. After a moment of silence, he said, as if he were releasing a heavy sigh, "It's weird. Seeing you out in the city. I would've thought you'd be going crazy in the lab, trying to get back."

Back home, of course. Caitlin impatiently shoved a curl behind her ear; it kept slipping into her eyes in the wind. She had been trying not to think of the multiverse predicament, keeping herself busy with Stein and chasing down metas. Every night, before she went to sleep, she missed it—Earth-1, the place she belonged. With Cisco and Barry, Family West, the true S.T.A.R. Labs, her own bed in her own apartment. That pizza dinner at Famulari's seemed a lifetime behind her, and her whole chest ached as she lay there with the potential loss of a whole world—a whole life—she was woven into. She _couldn't_ be stuck on Earth-66. She was part of Team Flash. She wanted her friends, her seat behind the monitors, her stupid examination table with the rust caking the back-left leg from that time Cisco had spilled lemonade all over it. Maybe she was being selfish, but it hurt to think that she might never have any of it ever again.

"What can _I_ do from here?" she sighed, looking around at the skyscrapers in all the wrong places, cradling the food a little closer. "I know they're doing everything they can. It's being patient that's the hard part." When Savitar didn't respond, she glanced at him gingerly, clearing her throat. "What about you?"

"Me."

"What have you been up to all day?" Caitlin asked brightly, taking the sweet and sour chicken back from him. "I haven't seen you."

Savitar glanced across the street, at a nearby stoplight, at the bus stop at the bottom of the hill. "Well, since I don't really _have_ a life outside solving everybody else's problems—"

Caitlin rolled her eyes.

"Been looking for Rory." The turn of his head this way and that, as if walking were suddenly too time consuming when there was so much to see, was very Barry. "Turns out it's hard to find people _legally_ when you don't have a badge strapped to your chest."

Snow's eyes bounced to him, sharply. "You aren't looking for him _il_ legally, are you?" she checked, pausing to get a better grip on the takeout bags.

Savitar reached over almost absent-mindedly and took two of them from her, carrying them gingerly, the way people hold a golf club on their first try. "No, Caitlin."

Caitlin sniffed a little. "Good."

"I guess if you want something done 'right'," he made quotation marks with his free hand in the air, all exasperation and satire, "you do it slow." He smirked. "Can't believe you ever got anything done this way."

She ignored his criticism of Team Flash's morals, for the sake of saving time avoiding an argument. "So you don't have any leads yet?" They were about two minutes from the bus stop.

Savitar shook his head. "Kinda makes you wish he'd blow something else up."

"Savitar."

"It's easier." His tone was unapologetic. Savitar stopped a few feet away when she reached their destination, handing her the takeout bags.

The screeching sound of city transportation reached their ears; they had just made it before the bus arrived. As it pulled up alongside the waiting area, Caitlin standing patiently while its passengers streamed off and into the streets, she tilted her head at Savitar.

He mimicked the gesture. "Aren't you getting on?" Nodded to the bus.

A thought had occurred to her. Maybe it was seeing him flash around in person, but suddenly the vehicle in front of her looked pretty unappealing. "I don't…suppose you could _run_ me back?" She lowered her voice a little, smiling a bit at him. "Public buses aren't exactly my favorite way to travel."

Savitar's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "You want me to take you all the way back to S.T.A.R. Labs?" His eyes darted to the bags. "With food."

"I've seen it done before," Caitlin reminded him, a seed of smugness in her tone when she added, "Barry never spilled a drop."

She'd had plenty of practice egging Ronnie on to do things for her, taking a swing at his ego. She'd gotten him to go out of his way getting her a smoothie while they worked on the particle accelerator, to keep from forcing her onto a rollercoaster, to giving her his extra coat one December morning. She'd even coaxed him into wearing a tie once. Caitlin was not a stranger to playful manipulation, whether it was her fiancé or Cisco inviting her to one of his family get-togethers, and as it had been a pretty good day so far, she was in the mood for playing. Savitar was not the imposing villain he'd been when they had arrived; she could get away with a little teasing.

Something flickered a little in Savitar's expression at the comparison. He joined her at the bus sign, walking down until he was right in front of her. "I'm not gonna be the one carrying it," he said. Was it her imagination, or did he sound amused? He clicked his tongue, squinting at the sky for a moment. "Funny—see, I _remember_ Barry speeding you to safety, but…I don't remember you ever doing it with food in your hands."

"What are you—"

Before she could finish, he had scooped her up and they were zooming through the city at top speed, too fast for anyone to notice they'd been on the sidewalk in the first place.

Caitlin had only experienced this once—when Ronnie and Stein had been bonded together as Firestorm, and Barry had pulled her away from the explosion meant to separate the two for good. She'd been too afraid then—afraid of losing Ronnie, afraid of not making it in time—to pay attention to what was actually happening.

It was incredible. All of Central City, all of downtown, all those details…it was like looking at a big smear on a tabletop at Jitters as they raced by. They were simultaneously apart from all of it and one with everything that was moving, _superior_ to everything that was moving. Wind shot every strand of hair back behind her head, icy air flying all around her, and Caitlin got the feeling her cheeks would be flapping if Savitar was going the speed he normally did. But she'd tracked the speed of several metas with his abilities during the last four years, and she could tell without any kind of machinery that he was taking it easy this time around. The rate at which they were moving should have disoriented her until they came to a stop, but she could see everything with clarity as Savitar ran. She could glance down and see the food in her arms, definitely cold now, but intact as long as she kept a very tight hold on it, bags closed. She could see the cars, just for a second, at a standstill as they went past. She could see the colors on each tree. The only thing she couldn't do was hear—the sheer velocity muted just about everything.

Then there was the Speed Force. She couldn't feel it the way Savitar must be feeling it. But she saw the lightning, the faded version of the Flash's yellow electricity zapping around them with every step. It was much brighter up close, easier to distinguish, almost like the Northern Lights on a sugar high. For a moment, she was afraid she'd be electrocuted, but somehow it wasn't like actual, real lightning. It was more like a very long candle's flame, burning far away enough for her to feel warm and flicker prettily, safely out of reach. She thought if she had the strength of movement to reach out and try to catch some of it, it would scatter like dust particles in a beam of sunlight.

When they did stop, they were in the Cortex, and Savitar had set her down in the time it took to blink, standing a few feet away on the dais in the little chemical lab to the left of the main floor. He was examining she and Stein's work with hooded lids. One minute they'd been rushing through the city, and the next it was just a slow afternoon in the Cortex.

Caitlin caught her breath, trying to look composed, but her cheeks were flushed from the cold and her scarf was tangled down her back instead of her front. She set the takeout bags on the white winding desk, shifting to regain balance.

Savitar was watching her with glittering mismatched eyes. "Did I spill anything, Doctor Snow?" he asked innocently.

Caitlin smoothed her hair down, still struggling for breath, blinking probably too much. The first question that slid from her mouth was, "How is it that I am not experiencing whiplash right now?"

"If I wanted you to have whiplash," he explained, running a hand along one of the tool tables on the dais distractedly, "you would have whiplash."

"That doesn't make any sense."

He shrugged, hands fitting comfortably in his coat pocket. "Guess I'm just that good."

Savitar's smile showed his straight teeth, an exact copy of his Earth-1 counterpart's, right down to the lateral incisors. It was actually impish—nothing sinister or bitter in it; simply genuine pride and pleasure in the jog he'd just had. If this wasn't the God of Speed himself, and if she wasn't her professional-albeit-approachable self, Caitlin might have described it as _adorable_.

* * *

In times of trouble, Cisco Ramon always came to her with words of wisdom.

"So when I was like eight, my first substitute teacher had a handlebar mustache."

Caitlin had called Earth-1 that evening in hopes of getting an update on the breach malfunction. The line was extremely fuzzy, and she could forget about using the projector Ramon had installed in the souped-up walkie-talkie. It wouldn't even turn on.

Cisco's theory was that something was interfering with the bridge between Earth-1 and Earth-66 on a dimensional level. The fact that he couldn't vibe there—that even _Gypsy_ , who he had specially called to their Earth for assistance, couldn't vibe there— _and_ that mere technology was experiencing glitches, served as his proof. Not only was the matter between universes in flux, but manmade devices were being affected as well. Barry couldn't race to _any_ universe. To be certain it wasn't just his speed, Cisco said, the Flash had insisted on attempting to break through to Kara's Earth, Harry's, and even a few they'd never tried before. To any. But nothing worked.

Distraught, Caitlin had expressed doubt that they would get a problem of this magnitude sorted out in time for Barry and Iris' wedding, let alone in the next _year_. Cisco had done scans and several tests to find out whether something on their end was manipulating the multiverse's energy, whether it was too many trips in between worlds, anything, but the computers simply hadn't complied. If Cisco's foolproof, futuristic technology couldn't dissect the issue, they were looking at a much longer timespan when it came to solving this.

But then Cisco had had an idea. Thus, the random handlebar mustache exclamation.

Caitlin, lying flat on her back on her bed, pulled the Bluetooth earpiece further in, irritated with the static around her friend's much-missed voice. "Cisco, what does that have to do with any of this?"

"Substitute teacher, Caitlin," Cisco had replied excitedly. She could hear him snapping his fingers, trying to get her to catch up, get on his level. "A sub. A stand-in."

"Can you be a little more specific, please?"

"Yes." He sighed. "Look, that Earth doesn't have a Cisco Ramon anymore, right?"

"Right."

" _This_ Cisco Ramon was able to create an interdimensional extrapolator for Kara on Earth-38, right?"

"Right." Caitlin sat up, mind hurrying to fall in line with Cisco's.

"So what you _need_ is another machine, kinda like that. And don't think I haven't tried this over here, all right? Every time I go the techno route to try to get you home, systems fail, everything fries. It's a no-go on this end. You need something that'll do this on _that_ Earth." She heard a kind of whizzing; he was probably twirling a pencil, the way he did when he was bouncing ideas around. "Like a—a breach machine."

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. "A breach machine?"

"Not the final title. Okay? Bear with me, Caitlin. We're talking about your freedom here." It was easy to imagine him holding up a stern finger. "What I'm saying is like, a machine kinda like a doorframe, something to do what someone who vibes does. Doorframes _hold_ doors, and Jay always told us that breaches are like doors between Earths. If you had a machine that could create and sustain a breach, regardless of whatever voodoo is keeping _me_ from just hopping on over there and yanking you back…"

Caitlin could feel a smile forming, but it was short lived. "But…" She gripped the bedspread a little too hard, frustrated. "It's like you said, there isn't a Cisco Ramon on this Earth to build something like that. _I_ certainly don't have any experience—"

"Aha, see!" Cisco's tone was elated. " _That's_ where the sub comes in! You gotta get an engineer. Someone who knows what they're doing. I mean, if it can't be me, get the next best thing." Under his breath, he considered very seriously, "Hold up, that's almost too much to ask here."

Caitlin snorted. "Cisco, I can't think of anyone we could…" She trailed off, a lightbulb sparking to life in her head. She could practically see it behind her eyelids. _An engineer._ "Wally."

A slurping sound. It could've been anything from a slushie to a milkshake to just plain coffee in a mug. Cisco being Cisco. "Like…Wally 2.0? Wally-66?" Cisco paused. "Wally the sequel, Part 2: the Return of Kid Flash?"

Caitlin spoke over him before he could churn out more names. "Wally could do it! On this Earth he's a mechanic in training, an engineer."

"Wait, wait, Caitlin, hold on a second." Cisco must've put the drink down; the slurping was gone. "You want him to literally build a portal between two worlds. You'd have to tell him _everything_ , okay, where you guys really come from, what you're doing here, all the nitty-gritty stuff. How do you even know he'll do it?"

"He'll do it," Caitlin promised. "You don't understand, if you—if you _met_ him, you'd know—all he has wanted to do since we found him is help us. We just have to tell him what we need."

"Okay, so…" Cisco cleared his throat. "Say you get him to do it, right, say he's all in. He's like an engineering _temp_ on that Earth, isn't that what you said? In training. This is gonna take serious brainpower, are we sure he can actually make something like this?"

Caitlin grinned. "He can if _you_ teach him how."

It took a moment for that to sink in. Cisco made an extremely loud chuckle, something that sounded very much like, "Ooo _ooohoohoohooo_ " and caused static to rifle through the line for a moment. When it cleared enough, he added solemnly, in his best Yoda voice, "Much to learn, you have."

* * *

It took Caitlin an hour to locate the building Wally worked in. It wasn't the biggest facility, and it was all the way on the other side of the city. Mercury Labs on Earth-66 was far less polished than the one on Earth-1, and she got the feeling by the muted interior design that it wasn't run by the same person. There was no trace of Dr. McGee in the building, and a search on her phone as she waited in the lobby for assistance told her "Tina" (as Dr. Wells had always called her) was hardly a big name in this world. The only thing that came up was records for a professor at a university in Starling City.

 _I wouldn't have much to say to her here anyway,_ Caitlin reminded herself, glancing out the window as it began to rain a little. Even if she had still worked at Mercury Labs, the two women were strangers on Earth-66.

Eventually the secretary, a stout elderly lady with very white hair beckoned her over. "How may I help you?"

"I'm here to see Wally West," Caitlin informed her, clearing her throat.

The secretary looked confused for a moment, then she brightened and said, "Oh, the new young gentleman—yes, he's up on the fourth floor today—excuse me…" She pressed the button on her headset, speaking clearly into the mic, "Doctor Allen, someone is here to see your intern? One second." She glanced at Caitlin, eyebrows pinching together. "What did you say you needed to see him for, young lady?"

"I'm—" Hesitating, Caitlin bit her lip. "I'm his doctor."

The secretary's eyes widened. "Of course, I'm sorry—" Again, into the headset. "It's Mister West's doctor, sir." She nodded, listening for a moment, then said to Caitlin, letting go of the button, "Go right up, they're in the medical lab." Then, as an afterthought while Caitlin was heading for an elevator: "Wait! You'll need clearance."

She held out a blue lanyard with a special key tag hanging from it, and Doctor Snow slipped it on, nodding her thanks.

* * *

It took Caitlin fifteen minutes more to find out precisely which room was the medical lab on the fourth floor. This version of Mercury Labs was not what she was used to. Having worked there for some time after the Singularity had taken Ronnie from her on her Earth, she liked to think she had a pretty good mental map of the place—even if working there had been a bit of a haze, moving from one task to the next, clouded by grief. But the map in her head was grossly inaccurate; everything here was either the opposite or didn't exist at all—like the chemical wing, where several scientists had tested out new theories. She could remember the slick white walls and the smell of the place. In Mercury Labs-66, it was missing.

For one thing, the doors were not marked with actual words—just letters and numbers. Things like SR05, K01, or even a simple G, all in a small frame on the wall beside the entrances. Caitlin would peek into each room, trying to work out the labels. After a few minutes of this, it wasn't difficult to come to the conclusion that the signs were initials, and one could only assume that the numbers were indicators of the amount of similar rooms Mercury Labs had to offer. Apparently, that had five rooms dedicated to surveillance—or security, same thing when there was a room filled with live monitors.

There was only one ML on the fourth floor—Medical Lab 01. Caitlin enjoyed a challenge, but in heels, mazes were never appreciated. She preferred S.T.A.R. Labs anywhere in the multiverse.

She decided against politely rapping on the door and went for the unassuming, quiet entrance. The medical lab in this facility on Earth- _1_ was stuffed with machinery and new medicines not yet ready to test. But the one on Earth-66 looked very much like a regular wing of your fanciest hospital: slick metal bedframes for empty cots and spotless sheets, several shelves full of different tools—the only sign that anything was high-tech was a small glass dome in one corner, housing a contraption that looked a lot like a silver washing machine.

Wally emerged from behind the glass dome, wearing jeans and a smart, pale green jacket. He was wiping his hands with a rag; they were dabbed with oil. "I think I got it," he said over his shoulder.

"Very good!"

When Henry Allen appeared a heartbeat later, Caitlin almost reached for the nearest bedframe to steady herself. His hair was a lighter silver here, and his eyes were sunken in, a lot more exhausted-looking than Earth-1's version. He wore a long white doctor's coat and a pair of what seemed to be gardening gloves. His big, relaxed smile was so similar to Barry's that Caitlin's heart skittered. How could it be fair, she wondered, that her friend's father was apart from him on every Earth? Every single one they'd encountered. Henry was either dead, a lone superhero, or missing a family in each world. A man so compassionate, so inspiring, seemed to get the worst luck no matter which life he lived.

Henry clapped a hand on Wally's shoulder, pointing to the glass dome at something Caitlin couldn't see. "Now, what you wanna do here—"

"Caitlin!" Wally had just caught sight of her, grinning away. He hurried to meet her and Caitlin offered a little wave.

Henry's smile didn't falter, widening to match his intern's. He followed Wally to the front of the room, taking off the gloves to shake her hand. "You must be Wally's doctor?"

"That's me," Caitlin replied, finding her voice after a moment of confusion. The way Mr. Allen had fixed her with those kind eyes was so familiar, her brain had stopped to stare. "I'm Doctor Caitlin Snow," she managed. He had a firm grip.

He met this with a simple "Henry" and Caitlin almost chuckled at the comparison in titles. She watched him straighten back up, letting go of her hand. On this Earth, Henry Allen had lost his wife and son on the same day. All he had left was his work—did he really do all of it with that same warmth? The warmth she remembered from the brief time they'd known each other on Earth-1, the warmth Barry still carried?

 _Savitar._ Suddenly she saw him in the way Henry's arms swung, the way he wore the white coat with a carelessness that left the collar of it slightly askew. What would he say if he knew his father was so close, working downtown? Alive and well?

Caitlin swallowed, standing there lost in thought as Wally made up some story about her patching him up after the EXPO (conveniently leaving S.T.A.R. Labs out of it, behaving as if she'd worked at a regular hospital he'd been rushed to).

It wasn't _Savitar's_ father. It wasn't Barry's either; even the Henry Allen of Earth-1 didn't belong to the former God of Speed. He really didn't have _anyone_. She blinked, attempting to imagine what that would feel like—never actually experiencing love, just the memory of it, the memory of losing it. Constantly being reminded of what you couldn't have, down to the smallest details. It was so steel-colored, so empty to think of, she shut her eyes tight with the sympathy it wrung out. She couldn't begin to comprehend a vacuum like that—but she ached when she tried, all the same.

"Well, it's about time for Wally to head on home anyway," Henry suddenly said, eyebrows raised at Wally's explanation, looking very serious. He gave the boy a stern expression. "You let me know if there's anything going on. If you need a couple days off—"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Wally nodded, pursing his lips, and glanced at Caitlin in a slight panic.

"Oh—no—there's nothing to worry about," Caitlin quickly informed them, pasting on a smile. "Wally should be fine, Dr. Allen, but thank you."

As Henry gave them one last crooked grin and returned to his work, Wally hurried to Caitlin's side as if rushing out of the rain, eager as a toddler.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "How'd you know where to find me?"

"I…" Caitlin wound the heels of her hands together. "S.T.A.R. Labs has some very sophisticated technology—"

"You tracked me?" Wally's arms crossed, and he looked very like Joe in that moment.

"Yes I did."

"Cool." He beamed. "So— _what_ are you doing here, exactly?" Wally shifted, arms dropping, and his mouth opened and closed as if he couldn't quite decide which question to ask first, brown eyes dark with concern. "Is it Savitar?" He lowered his voice when Caitlin gave him deliberate, wide eyes. "Is he in trouble? Did he find out about Rory, what's—"

"No," Caitlin waved her hands, cutting him off with a wave of guilt. "It's not that. Not yet. But we _are_ working on it," she promised. Then she bit her lip, hesitating. Was she really going to try this? Did she have any other options? If Wally was to help Savitar save the city in the future, the way she'd planning and hoping for all these months, he'd need to be shoulders-deep in the speedster's life. And this was the first step in that direction. "Actually, we— _I_ need your help."

Just as she'd suspected, Wally's entire countenance became straighter, taller, brighter. "Anything," was the first word out of his mouth. "You got it, I am so there. Name it."

Caitlin fought a smile at his determination, focusing on the weight of what she was there to hand him. "It's about getting back home."

Wally's eyebrows dipped low; he slid his hands into his coat pocket. "What—what do you mean, do you not live here?" He pointed to the floor, obviously indicating a larger area than just that building. "Central City?" A slightly-amused smile. "Like—I can fix a car no problem, but couldn't Savitar just, you know…" He grinned. "Run you?"

"Not where I need to go," Caitlin sighed. She paused, and Wally's grin slowly slipped off his face as he watched her grow thicker and stiffer there, as he realized her situation must be a bit more serious that a malfunctioning vehicle. "Let me treat you to Jitters. It's…it's kind of a long story…."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: LOTS of scene changes, I apologize. Those silver thin lines must get distracting. Review, Jell-O Squares! You know they cook my rice. -Doverstar)**


	31. Chapter 31: Hear Me

**(Author's Note: So I only made you wait a week this time, guys! Christmastime is upon us. Please don't hesitate to talk to me! It's much easier to believe people are really reading the story when I can read your thoughts about it, hear your voices, not just noticing a number of Follows or Favorites on the bottom of the fic's description. Thank you for being patient and kind, Jell-O Squares! Enjoy this one!)**

* * *

Professor Martin Stein of Earth-66 had three more PhDs than Earth-1's Stein had. He'd won varied awards for his theories and papers and inventions, and had made more money with his scientific career, heading his own enterprise, than Caitlin or Savitar would make in two lifetimes. His vocabulary was 98% more evolved than that of anyone else's in the country, and his IQ rate was simply unfair, so we won't mention it.

But for all his smarts, all his formalities, when Caitlin showed him with fumbling hands the positive test results for Clarissa's cure, the man practically _danced_. There in the Cortex. The look on his face said he was strongly considering framing the test results and hanging them in various sizes and fonts on every wall in his home.

For a good twenty minutes, he couldn't seem to form words. The two of them had been testing the antidote against Nimbus' poison gas on and off for two weeks, over and over, factoring in every variable. They couldn't risk making Clarissa any worse with one wrong move; they had been dealing with something inhuman for so long, they had to be certain their science held up against it. Now, finally, it was finished. Everything was in place, everything appeared to work just fine.

They'd worked with a kind of test pair of corrupted lungs, using Nimbus' gas. It was really a simulation, much like the kind airplane pilots used in courts when weighing their options in the event of a crash. Stein had commissioned an employee at Hudson Industries to create the lungs—answering no questions, of course, as the public remained disbelieving when it came to a man who could become toxic air itself, therefore a curious subordinate would only get in his way. Once they'd set it up at S.T.A.R. Labs, Caitlin and Stein had been doing several calculations and making modifications each day to their antidote, releasing it into the simulation and watching what worked and what didn't.

And today they'd gotten it right. They'd gotten every inch of it perfectly right.

"It appears Thomas Jefferson was right. The harder we work, the more luck we've got." Stein was now in one of the seats behind the white winding desk, glasses in one hand, eyes damp. He looked again at the paper in his hand, mouth gaping. "Miss Snow," he announced, "I'm afraid I feel like celebrating."

Caitlin laughed, taking the goggles he passed her for cleaning. "I might be up for that."

"Of course," Stein cleared his throat, donning his spectacles once again, "we'll need quite a bit of pull with the hospital in order to get it past the lobby, never mind up to Clarissa's ward."

Caitlin shook her head. He was always thinking too logically, more than she ever had. In a moment of jubilation, he was focusing on yet another obstacle. "Professor, what matters right now is that we did it," she reminded him, hanging the goggles up. "We'll deal with that when we—"

 _FWOOSH!_

Savitar had returned, full costume, from his daily Rory-scan of the city.

As he had been doing ever since he and the speedster had formally met, Stein stood upon the hero's entry. "Savitar," he greeted. His hands folded behind his back, but one still gripped the test results, as if afraid they might blow away if he let go.

"You're still here," Savitar sighed, looking Stein up and down. His hand moved up, as if to pinch the bridge of his nose, something Barry did when irritated. But at the last second, it dropped back down again.

"I am." Stein's smile was small, but genuine. He was in too good a mood to be put off by Savitar's exasperation. "I want to thank you," he said warmly.

Savitar's eyes were cold. "Thank me?"

"Wasn't it _your_ idea to combat Nimbus' fatal substance with a—em—quote-unquote, _gas_ of our own?" Stein held out the test results proudly, glancing at Caitlin. The bioengineer stood off to the side, hazel eyes bouncing from the professor to the would-be god. "It was just the right amount of risky to work, as it turns out."

Savitar took the paper and looked at it for about half a second. Caitlin hoped it wasn't disinterest, but merely his super speed reading they were witnessing. His eyes came back up to glower at Stein, almost lazily. "I wasn't doing it for you."

Caitlin stared at her feet, but not quickly enough to miss Stein glancing again at her, this time a little more briefly, a little more studiously. Savitar wasn't looking at her, but of course he didn't need to; she knew who he _had_ done it for. It hadn't achieved his desired effect, though she would never tell him that. She had switched from losing sleep by trying to come up with a _medium_ for the antidote—to losing sleep by _testing_ the medium her friend had given her. Caitlin didn't mind—Cisco always called it _being wrecked for a good cause_. He, too, had missed his fair share of rest trying to save the world, whether it was working with the Flash or with Dr. Wells, pre-Barry.

"Whatever the reason," Stein went on, undeterred but a bit stiffer now, "as I've told our Miss Snow here several times—I find it remarkable that you opt to use your abilities to better Central City." His mouth tightened. "Instead of squandering it with petty crimes, like so many others. Thank you."

Savitar was quiet for a moment, just staring at Stein. His posture, which had been all wooden, slackened at the word _better_. He nodded, ever so slightly, and Caitlin thought she could gauge him well enough by now to assume that was his version of a 'you're welcome' to the professor.

But the moment was shattered when her phone rang.

Caitlin winced, then decided she didn't mind the interruption when she saw who was calling, heart jumping in excitement. "Wally?" she said into the cell, not bothering with a hello. "How's it going?"

It had been five days since she'd told Wally everything. Since she'd come to Mercury Labs with a plea for help he'd been all too prepared to answer as best he could. She'd told him who she really was—where she was really from, where Savitar was really from. He had swallowed the story of the true Flash without hesitation; he had something to base it on in the former God of Speed, of course. What with the metas on Earth-66, he seemed to believe in the multiverse a lot more easily than he would have without the particle accelerator's affects. This didn't mean he hadn't needed to take a moment to process. Several moments. Possibly two days, with frequent phone calls loaded with questions that had occurred to him at work, or while he was brushing his teeth, or while he was walking home. Wally West-66 had quite a bit more curiosity than his Earth-1 counterpart. The part of her tale Wally had really been struggling to take at first was that of Savitar's origin. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the time remnant reality, or the loop of Savitar's creation and end—how he created himself _and_ helped to defeat himself, both in 2024, unwittingly. It was a lot to take in for anyone, whether you were a scientist or a grocery store clerk.

Once he'd accepted the truth, Caitlin had had to introduce Wally—via the very choppy Bluetooth device—to Cisco Ramon, who she swore up and down was, in fact, a genius, despite the Godfather references and the sound of Pop Rocks in his mouth as he'd spoken. But it was hard to dislike Cisco, and soon he and Wally were getting along just as easily as Kid Flash and Vibe did back home. They had been putting together blueprints for the machine when Wally was off of work, at Jitters with Caitlin or on break. Both boys were working hard and working fast, and Wally had not uttered a single complaint—he seemed to think this was minimal, compared to what Caitlin and Savitar had done and were doing for him.

Just in the past two days, Cisco had been coaching Wally down in the engineer wing of Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs, as he and Caitlin had planned, over the communicator. But whatever was interfering with the two worlds and the breaches was getting worse by the day, taking its toll on the multidimensional walkie-talkie, and it was more frustrating than it should have been for Wally to learn anything. Static and glitches in the Bluetooth's sound for hours on end was enough to make anyone throw a wrench into the wall—which Caitlin had promised did not need to be paid for or fixed any time soon. The whole place was still pretty run-down; one dented wall wouldn't matter much.

He was in the engineer's workshop now, and the frame of the portal was beginning to form, piece by piece, though Wally had heavy doubts than any of this would actually work.

"I'm just an intern," he'd confided to Caitlin yesterday, covered in grease and welts before heading home. "You need an old computer or something fixed up, or like—a car engine's freaking out on you— _that_ stuff I can do. I'm not used to all…" he'd gestured weakly to the pile of metal and tools on the cement floor. "This."

But Caitlin had assured him he was capable. She and Cisco both never forgot to encourage him in their own ways while he was downstairs working, regaling him with stories of Kid Flash's greatest moments on Earth-1. Caitlin couldn't help wishing H.R. were there to do it himself; he'd always been best at "boosting Wallace's morale", as he'd put it.

Now Wally sounded a bit excited as he replied, "So the framework's basically done—it's massive, you gotta come see it!"

Caitlin glanced at Stein and Savitar. "Give me one minute, I'll be right down."

Stein was gathering his supplies as she hung up. "That sounded urgent," he chortled. "I'm guessing this is where I leave the area for the time being." Before Caitlin could apologize as usual, he held up a hand. "I'll be in your medical wing, preparing a sample." He smiled. "Someone has to properly prepare our masterpiece before we grace the local hospital."

Caitlin hugged him goodbye. It was one of the first embraces she'd given this version of Stein, but it seemed fitting today. Given their success, he didn't seem to mind. She wanted a bit of a longer farewell, maybe a chance to map out a little more of their next meeting—she felt nervous and flighty when there wasn't a set plan for every detail of a situation—but she could feel Savitar suddenly staring holes into the back of her head, so she refrained.

When Stein had gone, Caitlin turned to meet his stare.

"Wally needs you downstairs again," Savitar told her coolly, arms folded tight. All traces of a slackened, softer posture from Stein's words had evaporated. The look in his dual-colored eyes was hard.

Caitlin's mouth opened to reply, but nothing came out right away.

She hadn't told Savitar yet about Wally.

It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to—she just didn't know where to start, and it was too easy to put it off, working with Stein and trying to get back home. She wasn't sure why she hadn't let him know. It was only recently that Wally had actually moved to the basement of S.T.A.R. Labs to begin building; he was never there for more than four hours, and Savitar could easily fill that time outside in the world, looking for Rory. Just going for a run.

If Caitlin were being honest with herself, it was probably an intentional thing, avoiding the subject with him. She'd only had to direct missions for the speedster over the comms a few times during the past five days, and other than that he was always back late or out early. They'd _seen_ each other since she'd gotten Wally on the job, of course. They were living under the same roof. But she'd never managed to bring it up with him, not all week. He hadn't reacted well to her helping Wally before, or Stein for that matter—and not being asked about building a portal back to Earth-1 with Earth-66's Kid Flash copy was definitely going to make him sore. She'd been putting it off, really.

And now it was backfiring on her. Of course it was. She could tell by the rock in his expression, the dullness of his voice. Because she was such a smart little bioengineer, but when it came to other human beings, did she ever really _think_?

Cautiously, she began with, "I meant to tell you sooner—"

Savitar shoved his hood off, shaking his head. He was walking out of the Cortex before she'd gotten the first three words out. Storming. Arms tight even as they swung at his sides, steps hard and quick, shoulders hunched, head straight.

It wasn't dignified, but she sped after him, trying to complete her explanation.

"Cisco came up with something we think might work," Caitlin went on, raising her voice as she came up behind him, struggling to match his pace. "But we needed an engineer—"

"Stop."

"We had to try _something_ —"

"Stop saying _we_." Savitar finally quit walking, turning around so suddenly she almost smacked into him. Caitlin looked up at him, knowing the picture of Cisco's often-used _my bad_ was written all over her face. She was mentally smacking herself for not learning from her mistakes, not telling him sooner. The speedster didn't seem to read it. "This was you. _We_ is for teammates. You and I aren't a team, Caitlin." He moved a thumb between the two of them, words dropping into the air like building blocks.

Caitlin felt her fingernails digging into her palms. "Yes, we are."

"No." Savitar's head was shaking again. "No, because I remember _Barry's_ team." He pressed a finger to the side of his head, talking quickly. "I don't get to have it, but I _know_ it, and it doesn't work like this. Teammates make decisions together. Isn't that how it goes, Doctor Snow?"

He sounded so much like the Flash, if she closed her eyes, she was easily back on Earth-1. "You're right. Yes. You're right and I'm sorry, I should've told you right away—"

"You should've _asked_ me," he snapped. The finger that pressed into his temple was now pointed angrily, generally, at the floor. "Before you brought him here for this. Did you think I wasn't going to hear him down there? Wasn't gonna see his car out back? I'm only supposed to be blind in _one_ eye, Caitlin."

Caitlin threw her arms up in the air. "He was already here before; he's trying to get his father out of _prison_! What's wrong with bringing him back if he can help us, too?"

"Help you." Savitar licked his lips, almost smiling as he exhaled, but it was one of those exasperated, bitter smiles while he spoke, shifting in place. "Didn't I already tell you I'd run you back?"

Caught up in the argument now, tired of his attitude, she took a step nearer and let some flint slip into her voice. "And I told _you,_ Barry already tried that. _Wally_ already tried it, they're doing everything they can! Your speed—no one's speed—is gonna cut it, Savitar. I needed external help, and this Earth's Wally can do it!"

Savitar didn't seem to have a response ready. He wasn't waiting for her to finish so he could interject with more accusations. He simply glared down at her, mouth still open, head still shaking.

"Now, I am sorry that I didn't ask your opinion first," Caitlin went on, some of the fight dying out as she realized he was giving her space to talk. "And it means a lot to me that you want to contribute. But this is my problem to fix, not yours. You have to let me. Even if—even if I do something stupid, like…not telling you right away. Okay?" She reached out and put a hand on his arm when he began to turn and walk off.

True to his nature, Savitar stopped when she touched him, but he shut his eyes, almost as if he were bruised there and she was agitating it. He stood like that for a couple of heartbeats, clearly calming down a bit, then pulled easily away from her.

"I need a run."

* * *

Caitlin twisted him.

He'd needed a run, but in speedster language, what he'd said was that he needed to think. Without interruption.

She twisted him up inside, she made him so confused. He wasn't used to being confused; he was used to calling his own shots, being in control, god of his own world. She shook it all out like she was emptying a piggybank.

For Savitar, after having dismissed the memories including Caitlin that didn't belong to him, she'd simply started out as a means to an end. She was part of a group of people he'd vowed to contemn, a group that only mattered to him anymore because they were key to saving his life. Then she'd become an unwanted accessory on an unwanted journey into another Earth entirely. Someone to babysit him, to take monitoring his vitals to a new extreme. A temporary nanny.

 _Then_ she'd inhaled poison gas, and when she survived, she'd sat beside him and claimed him, without so many words, as her friend. Which was not part of the deal, not part of his governess image of her. It didn't fit the bossy bioengineer that fussed at him and was only helping him to make sure he didn't go back to the dark, try to take over the multiverse. Rather, it fit four years' worth of another man's memories in which a compassionate, awkward personal physician stitched him up inside and out, putting in time and effort to someone who really only made her life harder. It matched that evening after Nimbus' attack, as they'd sat on that gurney in the Cortex, putting a hand on his shoulder and making him something else, something _to_ her. She couldn't have knocked him over more wholly if she'd hit him with a crane.

So he'd gone from planning to end them all, planning to murder Iris West and take Caitlin's identity from her—welcoming Killer Frost—to buying ice cream sandwiches and sitting there on Earth-66 while she lectured him. Sometimes twice a day. Was that all it took? She could wrinkle her nose—or smile—or roll her eyes—and he felt something that should've been ancient and forgotten crashing inside. Something that said he really had been the one to grow up in Joe's house and high five Cisco and get struck by lightning. Something that said Caitlin Snow had sung karaoke with him once and had played Operation with him and had remained by his side for _four years_ of hero's work, despite losing two loves and gaining powers she'd never asked for.

He remembered so much of her that he could reference when they were together. Unfortunately, they were Barry's moments to call up. Savitar could only base any interaction he had with Caitlin on the experiences they'd had thus far—on Earth-66. No bar diving, no _quite the pair_ , no long conversations about losing his mother or losing her fiancée.

And what he had to go on here was very little—they were friends. She cared about him, she'd said. She trusted him. They were a team.

But even in the timeline that had been erased—the one where he managed to end Iris and recruit Killer Frost—being a team meant communicating. How was he supposed to feel and act when she turned things topsy-turvy? Changed the rules to suit herself?

If she did trust him, if they were friends, like he—like _Barry_ and Caitlin had once been, he should have heard about her plans to get back to Earth-1 before Wally had. She didn't want his help. It was almost as if she'd forgotten he was even an option, forgotten he was there to ask. He couldn't run her through the multiverse? Well! Then he was as useful and relevant as a pocketknife was in a swordfight. Stick him in a corner, on a wild goose chase after a pyro. We won't be needing the speedster anymore, not for this, not right now.

She was _so_ determined to go back to Earth-1. It made his head ache, thinking of it. The steel surrounding her when she was talking about it, the more frequent frowning. It was distracting, seeing her quietly concerned when nothing else was going on, in the moments where she was just sitting there, staring into space. It was irritating. Recently it seemed Caitlin was already another world away in her own mind. He knew her strengths, he knew her weaknesses. She loved to worry.

Caitlin had come with him here, to this echo of what the two of them knew best, and had slowly unraveled him. Everything he'd become since 2024, she had grabbed one string and just pulled and pulled—somehow she'd done it without moving, it seemed—and now he was frayed all over. She was getting too caught up to see it, caught up running after Stein and constantly patting Wally on the back. She was blind to her own handiwork.

Because of Caitlin Snow, Savitar had become so much thicker, so much more colored, he didn't know how to carry it when she wasn't in the room. He felt it, felt the more Barry Allen side being tugged and coaxed back into him, when he was sure he'd banished it eons ago. And when she was there, his old teammate, his new companion, it was as if she'd poured gasoline on the flame. She gave the colors somewhere to go. He didn't need Stein or West or Thawne there, they didn't do anything like that for him. It was an _I'm screwed_ slap in the face. Because he wanted her there.

When Caitlin was there, Savitar felt he could breathe better. However frustrating she could be, however easy it was to argue with her.

And now she wanted to take that freedom, that feeling of breathing easily, with her. All the way back to Earth-1. How could he complain? She'd turned him into something different—someone who, he was slowly realizing, would be far too _good_ and _noble_ to complain if this went on much longer.

There was nothing he could do about it. How could he get her to stay, just him? There was no way. She hadn't needed to be Frost to defeat him. Being Snow was dangerous enough.

* * *

Eddie Thawne seemed undaunted by the Cortex when he arrived to debrief the speedster that day.

This could've been because the CCPD—before it had been burnt down—was a lot nicer on this Earth. It also could've been because after having seen Savitar speed through the city and Mick Rory lighting himself on fire, a high-tech facility (however neglected) wasn't such a big leap. Or maybe nothing really fazed Detective Thawne.

Whatever the reason, Caitlin was glad there wasn't a new basketload of questions to answer when Eddie was introduced to S.T.A.R. Labs.

"So this is where it all happens," he whistled, glancing around. He seemed tired, moving gingerly, eyes half open. "Saving the day?"

"Part-time, yes," Caitlin replied, smiling. She held out a hand. "I'm—"

"Caitlin Snow." Eddie finished for her, setting his coat down on one of the chairs to shake with her. "I know, I'm Eddie. Wally can't seem to shut up about you."

Caitlin smiled. "We're pretty big fans of him around here, too," she told him. She knew Wally must've explained the bare minimum to Thawne—she'd given him strict instructions not to tell a soul about where she and Savitar were really from, and had no doubt he'd follow them.

"He's a good kid." Eddie grinned a very sparkling, very Hollywood grin at her response.

It was funny—Iris had once, to Caitlin, described Eddie as that annoying kind of person who is so drop-dead handsome (Iris' words), who shines so often, he's blinded by it. Completely unaware of it, which only made everyone around them notice that much more. Caitlin had admitted to thinking he was rather pretty at one point herself, but looking at him now—even another version of him, with darker hair and possibly a different height—Iris' description simply didn't fit. Yes, he was handsome, but there was something honorable and good in Eddie that _made_ him attractive, perfect teeth and great hair or not. He was a kind of average superhero.

"So," Eddie went on, smile reaching his eyes at last in slight excitement. "The—streak, the shadow, your friend—"

"Savitar."

"Savitar." Eddie made a scrunched face, almost as if he didn't quite fancy the name. "Wally said he wanted to help us with this case—I've gotta say, I didn't think he'd get his foot in the door." He shrugged, still grinning away, but it looked slightly forced now. "Every time I've seen the guy, he's just—" Eddie snapped his fingers. "Gone. It's been kind of a confusing partnership."

"Tell me about it," Caitlin muttered. She clapped her hands together, once, winding them a little with nerves. She hadn't realized how awkward it might be, talking to Eddie on her own. Not only was it weird to be conversing with someone who had died in front of her—in front of the whole team—but Caitlin couldn't begin the debriefing without Savitar. She suddenly wished Wally or Stein were here—or better yet, Iris. Iris had always known how to make Eddie comfortable, in any situation. She'd told Caitlin that Eddie had had a hard time talking to people if it wasn't work-related.

This Eddie didn't seem to have that problem, though. "I'm guessing he's out doing his thing, huh?"

Caitlin bit her lip. "He should be back any second now—I told him you were coming." Yesterday. She'd told him yesterday, and Savitar wasn't the kind of person to just forget important meetings. After all, he'd been the one to suggest Eddie give him any information they had.

"Wally's here too, right?" Eddie looked at the entrance, as if expecting West to come trooping into the Cortex. "He mentioned he had some after-work project going on with you guys."

"He's downstairs," Caitlin began falteringly.

It would take too long to explain. Wally had indeed gotten the framework done for the machine, but now that he was getting it in position—with Cisco's guidance—taking Eddie down to greet the boy would be a massive distraction. If Eddie hadn't had any questions before, he certainly would have then.

"How…" She cleared her throat. "How do you two know each other, exactly?" She sat in one of the chairs and motioned for Eddie to join her, resisting the urge to boot up one of the monitors and track Savitar's location. "I mean—I know you worked together with his dad—"

"We were partners," Eddie agreed, taking a seat. "When I joined the force, I had just moved here. I didn't really have anybody I knew, but after I was assigned to Joe, his family—kind of became mine, for a while." The smile was back, bigger than it had been before. "They would invite me over for dinner or some kind of outing on my days off. I guess…" He blinked, staring at the floor, near one of the white desk's legs. Picturing something. "I guess after what happened—after Joe was convicted—I couldn't just step back and leave Wally to deal with it. I felt responsible, you know?"

Caitlin, listening with her head tilted, pursed her lips in sympathy for him. She kept waiting for him to mention Iris, _this_ Earth's Iris. If he had been such good friends with Family West-66, how had he and Iris not gravitated toward one another? Before Iris had died here, there had been no Barry Allen. No childhood friend turned sweetheart. When Eddie had been alive on Earth-1, Caitlin had always felt for Barry—stuck watching the love of his life entwine herself with someone else—but the blonde detective was clearly just as smitten. He and Iris had always seemed happy together, always seemed right for each other. Barry and Iris seemed right, too, but who said you were destined for only _one_ person in your lifetime? If your first love passed, the way Eddie had, Iris and Barry were just as compatible. Both couples had the same ring around them (no tragic pun intended) that Caitlin thought she and Ronnie always had.

But there was nothing of Iris in Eddie's story. He went on to describe one of the family's outings—a trip mini-golfing—then to tell her how he and Wally met up every once in a while, to catch up on life and compare notes when it came to Joe's case. Still no Iris. Could it be that he and Earth-66's version of Barry's girl had never gotten together at all? She had been a cop here—it should've been so easy.

Savitar arrived just as Eddie had begun to trail off.

Thankfully, he was still in full costume, and Caitlin could tell he had remembered Eddie would be there by the way he was vibrating all over before coming to a complete stop in the Cortex.

"Shouldn't you be rebuilding, detective?" he offered instead of a greeting, not looking at Caitlin as he came in.

"We're working on it," Eddie replied, apparently assuming Savitar spoke out of concern for the force. Caitlin was pretty sure it was the speedster's usual unfriendliness. "Right now the CCPD's stuck using a hotel downtown for headquarters, but…" He shut his eyes, shaking his head with another, tighter smile. "This is more important."

Savitar shifted his weight, turning to face Eddie, though he continued to vibrate. "I'm listening."

"I know what Wally told you, but it's…it's different if you were _there_." Eddie took a deep breath and began. "It was two years after the accident here—with Wells' particle accelerator going nuts. At the end of the day, when we were all heading home, the station got an anonymous tip about the location of the Darbinyan crime family. We've been trying to track these guys down for years, and someone called in to tell us where they'd be—the guy said to have the chief meet them on the pier for the information."

"It had to be a trap," Caitlin broke in, shaking her head.

Eddie glanced at her, pointing. "Sighn figured that—and so did Joe. They went together in case there was any trouble." He paused, but didn't look guilty when he added, "I followed them. Joe told me to go home, I wasn't supposed to be there, but…if I hadn't gone, no one would know the truth."

"It was Rory," Savitar interrupted. "Rory called with the tip."

Thawne's eyes became hooded, almost darker. "He met them at the pier. I hid a good distance away, close enough to see everything. I remember pulling my weapon the second I saw him, but…back then he wasn't on the radar, no records. I had to wait until I was sure he was a threat, that it was really a trap, but I was too late. It was the first time I ever saw him use his powers. Joe got the chief out of the way, but he had to drop his gun. Rory used it to fire three shots into Sighn—it only took a second. Then he was gone."

Caitlin could picture it all easily. Flames reaching out for Joe and the chief, Joe's gun hitting the wet wood of the pier, Eddie in the shadows further down. She could almost hear the bullets whizzing through the air. Savitar remained silent a few feet away, but she could see by his stillness that he was listening.

"Wally told us he wore gloves," Caitlin recalled. "That the only fingerprints on the gun were Joe's." She tilted her head. "He said Joe had _motive_? But he wouldn't tell me what it was."

If it were possible for Eddie to look further in pain, this comment pushed him over the edge. It was clearly hitting him hard to tell the tale, though Caitlin was sure he must have done it a million times over, trying to prove Joe's innocence. "Joe and the chief didn't always get along," Eddie admitted, voice quieter now. "But it got worse after the explosion here—at S.T.A.R. Labs. Sighn assigned Joe's daughter, Iris—she was a cop—to security right outside the lobby. She never came home. Wally doesn't like to talk about that part because…because we both know Iris meant the world to Joe. To her whole family. It's just adding insult to injury, you know? That Joe would be accused of—of _murdering_ someone for Iris' sake. There's just no way."

Caitlin risked a glance at Savitar, but he didn't seem to be affected by the news. He'd already known Iris-66 was dead—but she would've thought, given who he remembered being, hearing the story from someone familiar would pump some emotion into the situation. Then again, he himself had planned on killing one Iris West in the past. Hearing that another had died, false memories or not, shouldn't be much to shake him.

"Joe blamed Sighn for Iris' death," Eddie concluded. "Everyone knew it. But Joe—he's a good guy. An even better person than he is a detective, believe me. I didn't need to see what happened to know he would _never_ have…"

"We believe you," Caitlin assured him. "And we are going to do everything we can to help."

Eddie nodded gratefully to her. Then he turned to Savitar, as if waiting for a reaction.

Savitar had stopped vibrating at some point during the story. He hadn't really needed to, Caitlin reminded herself, as Cisco's costume did a pretty good job of hiding his identity. He didn't have scars to blur anymore, either. "I'm gonna find Rory," he promised bluntly. "But I'm gonna need more than a tragic backstory to do it. I need to know where he's hiding."

Eddie made a face between confused and indignant. "If I knew that, we'd've had him already."

"You've been following him," Savitar countered. "You have to know some of his favorite places. I've met him twice, detective, you know more than I do about the guy."

"There's no pattern." Eddie spread his palms, shaking his head in frustration. "None. He's somewhere new every time, nothing's related. If I'd just nabbed him at the pier two _years_ ago, none of—"

"Assistance!" came a sudden cry from the hall outside.

Everyone turned as Martin Stein came rushing in, doubled over just a bit, holding a beaker of something cloudy-white, almost a full mist, but clearly still enough of a liquid to make Stein's hands a bit wet as it spilled past the top. Indeed, it was overflowing from the glass container, and there was a measuring cup in Stein's other hand. He was attempting to catch the falling substance in this, holding it below the beaker. Caitlin noticed that the glass of his wristwatch was fogging up.

"Is that…?" Caitlin began in a warning tone.

"Yes yes yes, it's the antidote, I'm afraid," Stein huffed. He glanced at Caitlin out of the top of his eyes, though his glasses were trying to cloud over in the same way his watch was. "This is just a-a small sample I've extracted, in hopes of getting it into a presentable state for the hospital, but as you can see, the change in climate seems to have agitated it dramatically."

Eddie was looking from Stein to Savitar to Caitlin in a baffled game of eyeball ping-pong, as if trying to make sense of the interruption. An explanation from Stein, stranger or not, was bound to stupefy anyone, even on a slow day.

Stein paused, glancing at Eddie. "Pardon me, whoever-you-are, but are you going to stand there gaping like a Victorian aristocrat exposed to an ankle for the foreseeable future, or are you actually here to serve some purpose? Hold this." He shoved the antidote into Eddie's hand and held the measuring cup more steadily beneath it.

Eddie's eyes widened. His expression was that of panic as he turned to Caitlin, who shrugged. His mouth closed abruptly at Stein's words and he eyed the antidote as it tumbled over his knuckles and into Stein's measuring cup. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" he finally managed.

Stein barely looked up. "It's possible. I've won several awards—televised ceremonies. Careful, please, Mister…"

"Detective Eddie Thawne."

"Professor Martin Stein. _Both_ hands! This is my wife's salvation you're carrying."

"Sorry."

Again, Eddie searched Caitlin's face for an explanation, but Caitlin, trying not to laugh, ignored this and said instead, "Professor, let me get you an actual phial for that."

"At last, someone with a head on their shoulders!" praised Stein, shooting her a glance that held a smile, even if his mouth remained tight and stressed.

Caitlin turned to leave the Cortex, faltering when she noticed Savitar was no longer there. He must not have sped away; there had been no blast of wind and no sickly yellow light. She headed quickly into the corridors, just in time to see him turn a corner.

* * *

"Savitar," she called, jogging a little to catch up with him.

Savitar didn't stop. He didn't need a talk. Having Thawne and Stein in the same room—Caitlin too—it made the Cortex seem fuller, it reminded him of the days when the Flash had everyone he'd ever needed to back him up. He wasn't ready for that feeling yet.

"I'm sorry," Caitlin blurted, folding her arms across her chest as she fell in step beside him. "I keep…taking all these pet projects instead of focusing on making sure you—"

Pet projects? "I don't care about that, Caitlin," Savitar interrupted, deadpan.

"Still," Caitlin cleared her throat. "It's a lot to do."

"Hey, when you're not working to become a god, you need some new hobbies," Savitar muttered. He still wasn't looking at her. Intentionally, he hadn't made eye contact with her since he'd come back to S.T.A.R. Labs. If he looked at her, he'd get softer, and he was desperately scrambling to put some distance between the two of them. In case she went through with it, after all this work. Earth-1 bound. But trying to create distance was like trying to cobble together the walls of a sandcastle that had just been soaked.

Her voice wasn't helping. The way it quieted down and all the bossy went out of it. "I haven't been fair to you. I guess I just thought…" She glanced at his face; he'd taken the hood of his costume down. "Without a way back to my Earth…I can't do anything about that. But until then, I _can_ make a difference here."

 _Her_ Earth. Savitar snorted very softly. "You don't have to help _everyone_." A pause. She deserved some kind of explanation. "They're never gonna be _it_ , Caitlin."

Her eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"

Savitar looked backward, toward the Cortex. "They don't measure up."

He could feel her getting tense beside him. She was frustrated. As usual. "You promised you'd give them a chance. _One chance_ , you said."

The speedster's head wagged back and forth. So smart, but she wasn't listening. "Not what I mean. Even if I give them a chance—they're not—"

"Do you think maybe your standards are too high?" She cut him off. "It's just—you don't even _know_ them yet. Not really."

Now they were getting somewhere. Savitar chanced a glance at her. Her hair was tilting toward a kind of vanilla coffee color, in the pulsing lights on the corridor walls. She was trying to meet his eyes, moving pathetically slowly, but a speedster had no trouble avoiding a shared gaze. He shifted to looking at her hands, then at the far wall behind them, before she'd completed a blink.

"That's the problem." He felt the corner of his mouth twitch up, an old exasperated smirk surfacing. "Eddie, Stein, Wally—they're all…clean slates. I don't have to worry what _they_ think of me, whether we're in the same room together or not, Snow." Savitar threw his arms up halfway, letting them slap back down. It made him feel better.

"I don't follow," Caitlin admitted. She was biting her lower lip. He didn't have to see it to know. He could hear it in her tone, he knew her. Of course she was. "You get so frustrated—they just want our help. And sooner or later, they're going to want to pay it forward. To be on your side. Wally already does." She slid her hands in her pockets. He saw it out of the corner of his eyes. "You have to give them the chance to _choose_ you, too. How can you do that if you won't even try to get to know them?"

She still wasn't getting it. She wasn't hearing what he was trying to tell her. Did he actually know how to communicate it? Barry had been so good at tender speeches. He was rusty. He didn't want it enough.

How could she not understand? Getting this close to _her_ was now a major problem. It was Caitlin that kept him from outright mauling common criminals, it was the thought of Caitlin that had him donning the suit at all. It was Caitlin combating all the rage and the hurt trying to drag him down every day. Like a lifeline. And she was trying so hard to cut the cord, turn him loose, take all that away. He had to worry what _she_ thought of him. How much _he_ meant to _her_. Daily. He couldn't do it with three more people. He didn't _have_ to have anyone else.

Did he _need_ Caitlin Snow?

The God of Speed was—just for a moment—afraid.

"I'm tired, Caitlin." Savitar finally looked her in the eyes. "I don't need a lecture right now. Okay?"

Caitlin's expression froze. For a moment, she seemed hurt. Then she stiffened up, and there was a hint of Frost as she turned away. "Fine. Get some rest. But they _will_ be here when you wake up."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: Next chapter is on its way! Don't leave me. We're almost done with this monster story! I wanna hear what you've got to say! -Doverstar)**


	32. Chapter 32: A Two-Edged Sword

**(Author's Note: I'm gonna drop this here and slowly back away as I accept the crushing guilt that comes with not updating in over a month. Again. ~Doverstar)**

* * *

When he'd been the Flash, cars were things he pointed and laughed at.

Savitar pictured the S.T.A.R. Labs company van on past missions, with Earth-1's team, speeding along beside him as he ran through the city that day. He remembered running past it after defeating metas, when they were all heading home, slowing so that his friends in the driver's and shotgun seats could see him speeding by. He'd hit the back doors to tease Cisco and Caitlin, who would be hunkered down in there with all their equipment. Both of them, rarely. One of them—usually Cisco—more often. The van was a welcome reminder that he could do what no one else could. How that felt, the rush it gave him.

He remembered Joe teaching Barry to drive, how excited he'd been when he finally got his license, only to spend his early adult years never possessing a car of his own. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted one—it sure would've made his relationship with the police chief a lot better, considering how often he had been late to his assignments. He simply never got around to owning a vehicle.

And after being struck by lightning, what was the point?

Barry was faster than the fastest, most tricked-out automobile the world had ever produced. He could travel through _time_. He could break the sound barrier. All he had to do was put one foot in front of the other and _go_. And, as his remnant, so could Savitar. Even without a big metal suit. Cars, however flashy, however expensive, looked like a toddler's first bike—training wheels and all—to a speedster. Very cute.

Savitar _wanted_ to point and laugh at the semi Lisa Snart had hijacked and was now commandeering toward the park, but the banner hanging between two trees that read _CC Children's Halloween Festival!_ sucked the desire right out of him. With no sign of slowing or turning, Lisa was—for whatever reason—revving right along in the direction of the festival and its participants.

He hadn't been out looking for Snart. He was supposed to have been looking for Mick Rory, but sometimes running felt too good to pass up. All he could think to do, just for an hour or so, was to move. Racing in between skyscrapers and in and out of open-doored parlors and along the riverfront. It was liberating—no matter what was going on, no matter what little doubts and hisses of negativity were stinging his mind, a good dose of speed was always the perfect quick fix.

And then there were screams and the screech of brakes and the rumble of the semi as Snart tore through downtown, behind the wheel of a vehicle too big and too heavy for comfort. Savitar's joy ride was over.

Of course, he was much faster than a semi-trailer truck. Catching up with it was not the issue.

Several different superpowered scenarios played out in Savitar's mind as he raced behind the truck (moving objects and people out of its way), including one where he retrieved some power tools at the speed of sound and dismantled the truck before it ever reached its destination. But all of them involved injury, or, at worst, a death toll when it came to the pedestrians at the festival. Never mind the pedestrians everywhere else. Dismantle the truck, and the bits and pieces of it would end up somewhere dangerous at high speed. It was too near the park at this juncture for removing and replacing its driver to be any help—the vehicle would still be too difficult to slow in time.

All this flitting in and out of him in a matter of seconds, Savitar came to the most obvious solution. But for that, he'd need eyes where he didn't have any—right now.

He tapped the comms in his ear. "Caitlin?"

Quiet static.

 _Come on._ He huffed a little, tasting a bit of the brisk air and the electricity of the Speed Force around him as he moved. She'd been in the Cortex this morning. Where could she be? "Caitlin!"

A crackling noise, then a voice that was _not_ Caitlin's. "Hey—hello? Can you hear me?"

Savitar almost switched the comms off. "Eddie?" It was a Saturday. The sandy-headed officer's day off.

Eddie sounded hoarser than usual, and a tad out of breath. "It's me."

 _Of course it's you._ There was no time for this. "Where's Caitlin?"

"I'm not sure," Eddie replied apologetically, and Savitar pictured him glancing around the Cortex—toward the labs on daises, behind him to the entrance—with no luck. "I just got here, brought Joe's case file—"

"Get Caitlin," Savitar ordered curtly, skirting around to the other side of the semi. "It's life-or-death."

"What do you need?" demanded Thawne. Was he even listening?

"Get Caitlin, Detective!" Savitar repeated, louder.

"I don't know where she is!" Eddie shouted back—not angrily, in an even tone, as if he figured all the raised voices meant Savitar needed help hearing. "If it's life-or-death, getting her here's gonna take too long. I can see you onscreen, what's going on?"

Savitar swallowed a heavy sigh. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want Eddie on the other end of the comms. Eddie didn't know how to work the system in the Cortex. Eddie couldn't do anything to help. Savitar was certain of it. But he could hear Doctor Snow in his head, just days ago— _You promised to give them a chance._ The speedster shook his head, as if to shake her voice from it.

He could just choose to sort this out himself.

Lisa swerved slightly, deliberately attempting to swing nearer the sidewalks flanking her stolen automobile.

The people in the park wouldn't care if it was Eddie or Caitlin or Cotton-Eye Joe on the other end. Time was of the essence.

"Okay," he said aloud, tone rising again above the wind as he ran. "Snart stole a semi and it's heading for the park. Swipe right on the right screen and you'll see…"

"Heat signatures," Eddie finished for him. Savitar heard loud clicking of keys. "I'm getting the other one to track the semi." His voice was quick and brittle, almost professional. A cop's voice. Not giving Savitar a chance to wonder how he knew the workings of the tech, he explained, "The CCPD had stuff like this before the fire. Wells made a donation four years ago; Joe said I should learn how it—"

"That's great," Savitar interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Tell me how many are up there."

"What?"

"People!" Savitar spat into the earpiece, sliding further sideways as Lisa veered violently right, just slightly in his direction but not enough to change course. "The festival. How many people do I need to move?"

The semi's front wheels had just hit grass. Savitar ran around ahead of Lisa, scooping up the nearest two toddlers and depositing the children three streets away, zipping back for more. He could have done this without someone in the Cortex, of course, but the park wasn't just a square of foliage and picnic spots—it ran all along the riverside, down several blocks, practically the toes of the city's body. However quickly he ran, that was a lot of moving back and forth, and he couldn't be sure without 'eyes in the sky', or heat signatures, whether he had gotten everyone out of the truck's way.

Eddie spoke rapidly. "You've got forty-five civilians in the entrance and twenty by the fountain." A beat, then he corrected a little awkwardly, "Sorry, twenty-one by the fountain."

The fountain, old as the city itself, was the center of the park, where every path eventually led. Lisa was heading straight for it.

Savitar worked from the semi itself up, dodging trees and snatching costumed festival-goers every few heartbeats. He could barely feel the ground beneath his feet, legs and arms pumping as he weaved in and out. One minute there would be grass and the smell of pumpkin guts and imported hay, and the next there was the usual scent of asphalt and gasoline, heels hard against cement, as he dropped innocents off on the same street, a good distance from the Halloween event.

All the while, Eddie was silent unless there was information Savitar definitely needed. "Semi two minutes from the center," he updated after a moment, in that same crisp, clear way.

"How many left?"

"Just two. One at the fountain, one on your right, you should be able to see 'em."

"Got it."

Savitar glanced to the right and immediately spotted a little blonde girl in a ballerina outfit, sitting under a tree just a few feet from him. The semi was barreling just seconds from the fountain, and the girl's tree was altogether too close to both.

Savitar picked her up bridal-style and had her on the sidewalk beside the others seconds later. He sped away before any of them could register he'd been there and back again, headed for the last person he had to rescue.

On the wall of the fountain, a German Shepherd puppy was standing shakily as the truck, completely out of control and moving too quickly to stop now—not that Lisa seemed vexed—raged into view.

"For real?" Savitar grunted to himself. The last heat signature was a dog.

He tucked the animal underneath one arm like a football and leapt off of the fountain's wall. The semi was inches from crashing into the large marble structure. At the last second, Savitar wrenched open the driver's side door and used his free arm to grip Lisa by the wrist, yanking her out of the vehicle and speeding both the criminal and the puppy to the safety of the sidewalk.

He paused, catching his breath long enough to set the German Shepherd down and keeping a firm grip on Snart. "Stay," he huffed to it. The puppy licked its nose.

"Yes!" Eddie crowed over the comms. The speedster could hear the sound of general destruction in the park behind them—the fountain wouldn't be recovering, but there weren't any living people left to get squashed. "Don't worry, the impact slowed it down. Semi's dormant."

Clapping broke out all around as the festival's patrons realized who had rescued them. Savitar heard the sound of smartphone cameras going off and vibrated furiously. It was too late. His secret identity wasn't at risk—he was fully clad in his suit—but Sandra Peterson would probably be pleased to discover multiple photos of an actual person behind the _Shadow_ that had been racing through Central City of late. There would be no shutting the newscasters up now.

Lisa, spitting a golden curl or two out of her mouth at the sudden stop, glared ice chips at him as he fastened meta handcuffs around her wrists. She may not have any abnormal abilities, but the cuffs worked just as well on the average villain.

"Snart," greeted Savitar gruffly, meeting the glare with bored eyes.

"Roadrunner," Lisa replied, sneering.

He turned the dial on her handcuffs and they tightened. "Let's go."

* * *

Lisa Snart did not need metahuman dampening cuffs, and she didn't need a metahuman prison. But considering the only prison S.T.A.R. Labs had was the Pipeline, she'd have to get used to it. And Savitar wasn't really interested in what made her comfortable.

"Caitlin mentioned Snart might be in league with Mick Rory," Eddie had reminded him on Savitar's way back. "As long as we've got her here, we should see if we can get any information out of her. She might give us some clues and we can go from there."

Savitar wanted to roll his eyes at every _we_ and _us_ , but with the way today was going, that might give him a sturdy headache after the first three rolls. One mission and suddenly Eddie was the new Joe West. He doubted Snart would give them anything, but after weeks of searching for Heat Wave with zero results, Savitar was willing to try almost anything. If Lisa had even a sand grain of detail on Rory's whereabouts, that would be more than what he had now.

So he and Eddie stood, a hero in costume and an officer in jeans, having a nice little stare-off with Snart as she got familiar with her new home in the Pipeline.

Beyond the glass separating two from one, Lisa stood almost like a Marine, legs straight, heels together, feet turned out. She had a funny little smirk on her face—she'd been wearing it since Savitar had apprehended her. The way she was looking at them both, as if she were not at all annoyed or even inconvenienced by today's events, made even her shadow seem stronger.

Savitar's first question was a blunt, "Why did you attack the festival?"

Lisa's smirk grew. "I was really bored."

Savitar's head wagged. "You were following orders. Right? Isn't that what you do, you and your group, someone's got you all on a leash?"

Lisa was silent, posture and expression betraying nothing.

The speedster narrowed his eyes. "You're not getting out of there any time soon, Snart, so it's not like you've got anything better to do. Tell me."

More silence. The smirk stayed where it was. Her eyebrows did quirk in what appeared to be faux pity.

"You'd be dead in that truck if it weren't for us." Eddie took a step nearer the glass. "Least you could do is give us some answers." He tried a smile. "You owe us."

Lisa straight-up pouted at him. "That's so sweet, Detective. How does dinner and a movie sound? My treat?"

"First tell us about your boss, and we'll see what—"

Savitar rolled his eyes halfway back into his skull and grabbed Eddie's arm, hauling him around roughly so that their backs were to Snart. "What are you doing?" he rumbled.

Eddie blinked, gesturing a little with both hands between the two of them. "Well, I—thought we were doing a good-cop bad-cop kind of—"

"No."

"I just figured since you were—"

"No. Stop talking."

"—doing the whole stern—"

"Stop _talking_. No." Savitar waited for Eddie to obey and shook his head slightly. "Unbelievable."

They faced Snart again.

Lisa raised her eyebrows. "Should I leave you two alone, or…?" She pointed backward with a manicured thumb. "I can stand in the corner."

"You work with Mick Rory." Savitar began, steadfastly ignoring Eddie, who shifted beside him into a more intimidating pose, arms crossed and legs apart.

"Oh," Lisa tapped her chin. "That's right. You caught the stink bomb and—now—the brains of the outfit," she smiled, obviously referring to herself, "so I guess the pyro's next on your bucket list, huh, boys?"

"He's murdered about thirty people in the course of two months," Eddie cut in, voice clipped and dark. "Some of them were friends of mine. He put an innocent man in jail. And now he's hiding under a rock, waiting to do more."

Lisa's smile twitched away, but otherwise a frozen gaze made her indifferent to Eddie's description. She was listening, though, Savitar could almost sense it. He knew what a mask looked like.

"Help us stop him," Savitar offered, tone low. "You know where he is."

"But…" Lisa snorted, showing a palm. In that moment, he was reminded vividly of Killer Frost—2024—waving her finger at a Barry from the past, refusing to give anything away regarding the God of Speed's true identity. Lisa had the same set about her jaw, the same look of lazy teasing in her eyes. But her next words were very un-Frost. "I tell you that and my days are numbered, gentlemen. There are consequences to backstabbing in our little clique," she added dryly, "and no offense, but they're much scarier than the two of you."

"Whoever you're working for can't help you down here," Savitar argued.

"Which means they can't punish you either," Eddie joined in, standing a little straighter. "Tell us what you know. You don't have to be locked up here forever. You can do the right thing."

Lisa laughed. "Oh, I was _waiting_ for the big hero line! I mean, I expected it to come from Speedy," she gestured to Savitar, who raised an eyebrow, "but I'm not disappointed. He wasn't really giving off the _righteous and just_ vibes anyway." She swung her arms a little, the picture of carelessness. "Honey, it's going to take a lot more than a pair of blue eyes and an ultimatum to get me to tell you _anything_." She bared her teeth in a grin. "I'm no snitch. Besides! It's more fun to watch you scramble."

This was not the Lisa Snart Savitar remembered from Earth-1. The girl in Barry's memories had been a little easier to talk down, a little easier to shake toward the light. He remembered Cisco being a key factor in that. Grudgingly, Savitar wondered if they would have had more luck getting Lisa on their side if Ramon had been there with them. Somehow, though, he felt that this version of the Golden Glider was a bit too rough around the edges to be persuaded by a fanboy engineer.

With a glance at Eddie, who seemed out of questions for the time being—Savitar recognized his own exasperation mirrored in the detective's expression—he rested a hand on the palm-scanner, closing the door to Snart's cell.

* * *

Caitlin was having a bad day.

For starters, when she walked into the Cortex that morning, Savitar was nowhere to be found. Knowing he never slept in late, she checked the tracker on his suit. The monitors revealed that her speedster friend was zipping around the city, not really stopping anywhere, in the throes of what was undoubtedly an adrenaline-charged waste of time. She'd be eating her breakfast alone. That was all right, she'd told herself. She and Savitar hadn't spoken much since their (really baffling) argument over having a team two nights ago.

There wasn't a single carton of strawberry Jell-O left in the mini fridge—the cons of sharing a building with someone who had to consume a minimum of ten thousand calories a day. Not wanting to drive all the way to Jitters or the grocery store when she could be doing something more productive, Caitlin had skipped the morning meal.

She'd called Professor Stein to see what time he'd be in to check on their antidote (it still needed plenty of preparation in order to gain access to the hospital itself), but all she'd received was an impatient voicemail.

And to top it all off, getting back to Earth-1 was proving even more irritating than what she'd been preparing herself for.

Wally was in the engineering wing during most of his free time—he'd almost asked for special time off from work, but Caitlin had assured him there was no need. He could take it slow. He'd only been working on it for about a week now.

It wasn't that she wasn't in a hurry to get home; she felt the urgency for the doors between Earths to open just as painfully as she had since discovering the problem. But it would've been worse if Earth-66 had nothing familiar, if there was no comfort to be found here. That wasn't the case. She had friends and a to-do list that, to her delight, was finally growing. She was making use of a building that hadn't seen teamwork or a mop in four years or so. She'd even managed to make Savitar laugh the week before (after a truly ghastly Peek-A-Boo impression while giving him a play-by-play of a past mission—one she realized too late that he'd have in his memories). Things were brighter than she'd thought they could be, in this Central City that was beginning to feel like a reimagining of a book she'd already treasured. She could wait in this new story a little longer before returning to the original.

No, the amount of time Wally took to build Cisco's interdimensional doorframe was not the problem.

Whatever was keeping Vibe from vibing her back, whatever was causing their dimension-crossing communication devices to malfunction, was getting worse every second. Not even 24 hours ago, the glitches during Cisco's Skype-coaching had been frustrating enough to make Wally throw a wrench into the wall. This afternoon, they hadn't been able to reach Earth-1 at all.

"Maybe it needs to charge," Wally offered weakly, pursing his lips. Caitlin had to wonder if he was considering tossing the walkie-talkie too.

"Cisco's inventions never need to charge," she'd replied irritably. And as a bitter afterthought: "Unless you're me, and you have things to do, and it's inconvenient." She didn't have time to explain a certain pair of Killer Frost-containing cuffs to the poor boy. He was confused enough.

They couldn't gain any live video from the projector option, and when Caitlin attempted to actually _call_ Earth-1, all she'd gotten was the odd word from Cisco and a lot of very loud static. If the white noise of an electronic void could sound broken, Caitlin had a feeling that what she'd heard must have been pretty close.

"Do you remember where you left off yesterday?" Caitlin had asked desperately, folding her arms around herself and glancing at the finished framework of the machine, which was leaned fragilely against the wall.

"We were gonna start with like, a generator of some kind…" Wally scratched at the back of his neck. "This thing's gonna soak up all the power from here to Starling City if it works. Needs something to feed it all by itself. But I can't get it going without Cisco. I don't even have a blueprint, and that's just basics." He glanced at her out of the top of his large brown eyes, attempting to get a smile out of the clearly-stressed bioengineer. "I know I'm a genius and all, but this is still kinda new territory."

Caitlin tried to smile, but she simply couldn't find one. "I'll take it upstairs," she offered. "Maybe I can get a better…I don't know." She let an arm slap against her side. "Signal, or something, there. I'll page you over the intercom if I figure it out."

"Cool." Wally let out a short, quiet sigh. "I guess I'll—polish this thing up." He glanced at the frame, running a hand through his tight, styled hair. "Sorry, Caitlin."

"It's not your fault," Caitlin assured him, heading up to the Cortex.

It wasn't his fault, it wasn't her fault, but _why_ was this happening at all? As if things hadn't been challenging enough, now she had four men depending on her in order to take the next step in their lives and no way of moving forward herself. She'd come to Earth-66 to make things better—better for everyone. It seemed she was being punished for it. Maybe if she had moved faster, if she'd done things differently, she could have been back on Earth-1 by now before…whatever-this-was had kept her from it. But she'd never know. All she could do was stick around and hope, preoccupy herself, work work work as best she could.

And of course, it looked as though she could no longer communicate with her family _at all_ starting today, until this whole mess was sorted out.

Now she was pacing the Cortex, walkie-talkie collapsed into a Bluetooth communicator clipped to her ear, listening to the constant stream of static and wishing she could even hear a snatch of Cisco's voice anymore. The thought of being completely cut off from him, from all of them, for the foreseeable future, made the situation a bit tenser than it had been an hour ago. Yes, Earth-66 was brighter, but that didn't mean she could go without true Team Flash in her life. Especially during a multiverse crisis.

Savitar chose this moment to speed into the room, in search of something to eat.

Caitlin looked up when he entered, watching him scour the mini fridge on the east dais. After a moment of staring stubbornly into the fridge—as though that might make all the strawberry Jell-O magically reappear—Savitar slammed the little door shut and exhaled a bit through his nose, turning to leave and spotting Caitlin.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, peering at her through hooded lids.

Doctor Snow shook her head. "Nothing." It was meant to be sarcastic—so many things, the _biggest_ things, things regarding her home and her sanity, were wrong—but it came out with less feeling than sarcasm required, and the former God of Speed didn't pick up on it.

He didn't use the two or three steps leading from the dais to the main floor of the Cortex, skipping them in one long-legged stride, coming down to stand near her as she paced. "You're biting your lower lip."

"I'm fine."

"You're biting your lower lip," Savitar repeated, a little harder, looking up at the ceiling and then back down at her. "So you're not fine. What is it?"

Why did he have to sound like her distress annoyed him? Like she was _bothering_ him by being upset about anything? It was so contrary to what she was used to with that voice and that face. Caitlin felt icicles start to grow and harden somewhere in the back of her throat, somewhere beneath the already-solid frustration that had been building in her since she woke up.

Her tone was just as pointy and frigid. "We can't get in contact with Cisco to build the breach machine. I can't go home." It should have been obvious what was wrong.

A few seconds passed then, and they took these seconds to observe each other. Not really talking in two days—you had to catch up on comportments.

Savitar didn't seem in the most chipper of moods either, now that she was looking at him full-on. His mouth seemed smaller, the way Barry's did when he was angry. Caitlin's father used to wear the same expression; it made her warier when the Flash was really struggling with something. Was Savitar still angry with her from their previous argument? But she hadn't done anything wrong— _he_ was the one making things harder, not accepting a team when it was practically drawn up for him; all that was left to do was to color it how he saw fit.

Whatever the reason, one person's anger matched the other's, so that both tempers stood at the same height and waited, shifting and ready to make the tightness in chests deplete, even at the emotional cost of their opponent.

Caitlin wanted to be controlled. She wanted to collect herself and respond with dignity, the way she'd practiced over and over in life. But today, somehow, just now, it was so hard. The pendant around her neck almost seemed to hum as she studied Savitar's demeanor. He was watching her with eyes tired and strained. He seemed just as frustrated as she was—definitely not about the same things, but in the past two days, she'd only seen that frustration when he looked at _her_. It was hard to miss. Time remnant or not, Barry Allen's face had always been his heart's billboard in one way or another. And a physician was trained to notice every detail.

He didn't move much then, apart from shaking a hand slightly as he pointed to the ground. His head was cocked. "That's why you weren't up here earlier." A low voice.

Caitlin paused in her pacing. "What do you mean? What happened?"

Savitar shook his head. "Lisa Snart," he said slowly, tone vibrating with lividity, "stole a semi and tried to ram it into sixty-five people today." Every _t,_ every _s_ was annunciated. He was even angrier than he was trying to let on.

The Bluetooth device suddenly felt colder against her ear. "Lisa Snart?" Caitlin shut her eyes for a moment, afraid to continue. "Was anyone—"

"I took care of it." Savitar sneered, looking away. "Thawne showed up too."

Caitlin's heartbeat slowed, and there was a slight warmth of relief washing over her expression. She spoke a little more softly. "Eddie helped you?" It was almost too good to be true. Savitar had _allowed_ Eddie to help him.

But, of course, he didn't seem to see this as a positive development. And the moment the words left her mouth, he looked more vexed than ever. "No, he shouldn't have needed to. But _you_ were downstairs with your arts and crafts project, so I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"

The icicles were growing in number, just at the way he was glowering at her. At the way he was taller than she was, the way he was standing there so self-righteous and sneering.

"An arts and _crafts_ project?" The fact that the pique rising within her felt familiar—not just because he'd caused it in her before but because _Barry_ had, and this was too much like those times—made Caitlin even further rankled. "Savitar, I am trying to get back home—"

"Teammates aren't supposed to run off and do their own thing," Savitar interrupted, almost shouting, getting closer. "Right? You bring me all these… _other_ problems you took on. Stein, the metas, Rory. _You_ brought them, Caitlin, not me, but you want _me_ to fix everything while you duck out, all focused on getting back to _your_ Earth."

Caitlin opened her mouth to object, but the speedster wasn't finished. Barry's strong shoulders and several inches on her were prominent as he went on.

He was nearly nose-to-nose with her now. A tone that had been blunt and loud seconds ago was now growing dangerously quiet. "Home sweet home, who cares about some _other_ Central City? Doctor Snow has more important things to worry about. But it's okay, right, I'm just another Flash, I can handle it." The tiniest of tremors in his voice. "A _disposable_ hero."

"That's not true."

"Here to clean up after you and your hobbies."

She waited a few heartbeats, eyes flicking from his left—green—to his right—blue—trying to quell the ice making her jaw clench and her fingers curl. But the cold she felt had nothing to do with her powers. Right now, she was all Caitlin, and she was furious.

"Hobbies?" she repeated, struggling to get the words out with composure. The way he'd spoken, the words he chose, made her feel she might be seeing him clearer than ever. "You think _I'm_ selfish."

He didn't waver.

She glared up at him, exhausted by the certainty and the contempt she was sure she could see in his face. "I'm trying to cure a man's wife. I want to free an innocent father from jail! I want to catch the bad guys and save the city. Be better, like we've _always_ tried to do." She felt her head wagging back and forth, just a little, felt the Bluetooth dislodge halfway against her ear. "But you're not. You don't want that."

The surprise of that thought struck her. The contrast to what she'd thought was in him. There was a very agitating lump in her throat, and she was worse for acknowledging it.

"You don't want to help these people. All you care about," Caitlin swallowed, "is _you_."

Stiff as a statue, he gave no sign he was even listening save eye contact.

She blinked hard. "Wally is going to finish the breach machine, and—you're gonna have to learn how to work through things here without my help, because I'm a _temporary_ teammate, Savitar."

Savitar finally moved backward. He only took one step, but it made all the difference.

Caitlin felt the air around her clear, the tightness in her chest dissolve. The lump in her throat didn't leave, though, and she thought it might actually have gotten bigger. Especially because he was staring at her as if she'd just removed the ground beneath him.

She faltered, suddenly running through what had been said in her mind, analyzing it in moments. She didn't need to. Physicians noticed every detail. Savitar's eyes were wide open now, and they were empty of nothing.

The members of Team Flash had never been the most professional, the most _chill_ band of coworkers in the world. There was, weekly, some sort of drama. Some deep, long talk. Caitlin should have been used to the fallout at this point. But she was sort of dizzy—she'd lost control of her tongue so quickly. Barry Allen brought out the mother bear, the fire in her. Savitar always seemed to bring out the ice.

A temporary teammate. Wally and the breach machine. She was going to leave. And Savitar wasn't coming with her. And she'd just reminded him. How wicked could she be? She wasn't supposed to freeze people like that. She was a healer. But there had been no supervillain attitude behind what she'd said. She hadn't even needed to touch her stupid necklace.

The way he wasn't moving, just standing with their eyes locked and his mouth closed, made Caitlin tremble inside, though she was just as rigid outwardly as he was.

"Savitar," she began, forcing calm into the name, "I'm—not—"

Too slow.

He was already gone. Off on another run. One moment he'd been staring at her and the next, whoosh, nowhere to be seen. She thought she saw multicolored blurs where he'd been, like the ones that appeared after you looked at the sun too long and saw echoes of it just seconds after glancing away. A blip of sickly-yellow lightning and then she was alone in the Cortex. It wasn't like a moody teenager storming out after an argument with their parents—it wasn't as if he didn't want to deal with the drop in temperature between them. That expression he'd held said he couldn't think and she could only assume he'd needed to go somewhere he could.

The fact that she hadn't even seen him turn away and go made the action of leaving all the more stinging.

They'd made so much progress. That was her friend, the man who'd just left. Not a _temporary_ teammate. Her friend.

Caitlin blinked. It was the only movement she could really make now, too busy overthinking. It was her job to fix things. That was why she'd come here. But she'd just taken a knife and ripped her fresh stitching job to frayed pieces with a few heated words. As _herself_ , no metahuman alter ego necessary. Guilt and shame made the lump in her throat impossible to dismiss. How could Caitlin Snow be crueler than Killer Frost?

* * *

 **(Author's Note: The Flash is a superhero soap opera...I tried. Oh, drama.)**


	33. Chapter 33: Prodigal

**(Author's Note: I FINALLY get some days off soon. Work has been work. Also I entered a short story writing contest, so that had a deadline and came before finishing this nonsense chapter. Anyway! Enjoy, really sorry I haven't been updating as regularly as I had when we began this little story. I'd love to see your reviews, as always, if you have a mind, Jell-O Squares! ~Doverstar)**

* * *

Savitar had been gone a full 24 hours.

Caitlin glanced at her watch as she exited the Pipeline. 11 PM. He hadn't left in his suit yesterday; she couldn't track him and figure out whether he'd gone on a jaunt around the city to clear his mind, or had actually run as far away from S.T.A.R. Labs as he could get. The possibility that he might just race off and not come back seemed ludicrous. But Caitlin had never been one to feel comfortable in the dark—and she had no control over the situation. She couldn't tell where he was, where he was going, or whether he'd return. He hadn't even taken his comms. Ludicrous or not, her brain was jumping to all sorts of worst-case scenarios, playing each over and over like a black and white movie as she carried out the day's routine.

What if Cisco's Hammond Cuff malfunctioned? All the interference this multiverse problem was causing could affect the only tether the speedster had to corporeality.

What if he ran into Rory? The pyro still hadn't been apprehended and was apparently following the same destructive agenda that Lisa and Nimbus had. Without any way to contact S.T.A.R. Labs, if this Earth's Heat Wave melted the skin clear from his skull, she wouldn't have any idea and Savitar would come back too late, too damaged for her to patch him up again. If he survived.

What if he vented his feelings at the expense of a few muggers, or a car thief? _Bad_ people who didn't deserve the _even worse_ Savitar could easily dish out. She'd be the cause of it, at its core; she'd made the speedster angry—and he wasn't above a little maiming. Infantino Street had proven he didn't cringe at the thought of deliberate violence.

What if he ran into another telephone pole? (This was not a worst-case scenario, but it was unhealthy.)

What if he never came back, and Wally fixed the breach machine, and the last thing she'd said to him before going home was to remind him she wasn't always going to be there? That he was selfish and uncaring, when he'd proved multiple times that yes, Barry's heart—though fractured—was still in there somewhere.

What if she didn't get to say goodbye at _all_?

If there was one thing Caitlin was good at—besides performing surgery under pressure—it was worrying. And as the day had progressed, she'd wound herself into a compression spring of concern, so that she felt she could bounce apart at any moment.

She didn't let it keep her from being productive, though. One could worry _and_ work, and she could've taught a class on just that. Several classes. She could've written the curriculum herself.

Item number one on the Keep Doctor Snow Busy list, Caitlin had gone down to feed the stoic Kyle Nimbus and Lisa Snart three times that day, as usual. It would be Lisa's first meal experience in the Pipeline, but she hadn't seemed surprised to find Caitlin depositing breakfast, lunch, and dinner into the chute attached to her cell. In fact, she was even sitting near it, as if expecting her food, and had the gumption to look as though Caitlin wasn't on time.

Snart's eyebrows had arched nearly to her hairline when the breakfast burrito slid into view. "What?" she'd asked. "No latte?"

"We're not going to starve you," Caitlin had replied, as civilly as she could. "But that does not mean we're running a catering service. This isn't a hotel."

"Clearly," Lisa agreed, smiling glitteringly, starting her meal nice and slow. She _did_ have all the time in the world—unwrapping a burrito was probably the most excitement she was going to get for a while. "I don't see the bellboy anywhere."

Caitlin pushed the trolley out with a little more force than was necessary, declining to comment.

Nimbus sat with his back against the glass when she opened the main door. Caitlin was surprised he wouldn't want to see as much of the world beyond his cell as he could, but he faced the blue-lined wall and didn't turn when she sent his breakfast inside. She wondered briefly if he was asleep—or meditating—or something, but just as she was about to turn the corner, she heard him speak.

"Don't worry, doc. You won't be doing this forever."

Caitlin paused, peering back at him over her shoulder for a moment before heading out. What a macabre thing to say. They didn't intend to leave the metas to _die_ in the Pipeline. But this Earth, from what she had researched, had no Iron Heights in which to store superpowered criminals yet. The Pipeline would do for now, but that didn't mean she'd leave Earth-66 harboring secret metas in S.T.A.R. Labs' basement forever. They would need a more permanent plan before she went home.

If she ever did get home. If there was a _we_ to plan with anymore.

And she was right back to worrying.

* * *

She'd gone down the Keep Doctor Snow Busy list in that twisted up way for the rest of the day, the list growing longer and longer as she went. Professor Stein had hurried into the building at precisely 3 PM, eager to get to work on preparing Clarissa's antidote for the hospital. The conditions, he said, had to be perfect in order for them to present it to his wife's doctors. "I'm afraid several PHDs and a prolific IQ will not be enough to trump standard medical procedures," he'd complained. The hospital would need to believe fully in their cure in order for them to clear its distribution to Mrs. Stein. It had taken them barely two hours to perfect the stability of the gas when exposed to certain room temperatures, enough so that they could 'bottle' it without an overflow of chemicals like last time.

When Stein had gone, Wally was the next guest in the Labs. He had managed to get off work early and went straight for the engineering wing. Caitlin had offered the walkie-talkie in hopes that this time, he'd manage to contact Cisco, but Wally grinned and handed it back to her.

"I don't need it," he'd said proudly.

"But—" Caitlin struggled to maintain a composed tone. Everything else was up in the air today. Why not her only chance at going back to her friends and family, too? It was only fair. "Wally, you said yourself, you don't know how to do this without—"

"Cisco. I know." Wally waved his hands slightly. "But he came through—look."

He'd led her over to the silver, high-tech printer gathering dust in a corner of the engineering wing. Caitlin would have said for certain that it hadn't been in use since this Earth's particle accelerator explosion, but then she saw the blue Power light blinking periodically on the far right of the machine.

She'd glanced in surprise at the teen.

Wally gestured to the mouth of the printer. "I was polishing the frame yesterday, after you left, and I hear this weird sound and—I don't know how he did it—but this thing was up and running. And he left these—"

West hurried to the other end of the room, near the breach doorway's metal frame, which was propped carefully against a wall. When he returned, he held a small stack of regular old printing paper. Caitlin took it from him, eyebrows pinched, and scanned each picture hungrily.

"Blueprints," she mumbled. They were Cisco's for sure, and not just because his name was scribbled on the corner of each one. The shadows of a few copied coffee stains could be seen on the third and sixth papers. She looked up at Wally, thinking aloud. "But all our communications are down—we can't even call him—how can an interdimensional _fax_ be the one loophole?"

Wally opened his mouth, but Caitlin didn't give him time.

She leaned toward the printer, clutching the blueprints a little more tightly. It was as though, through the appearance of these page-by-page instructions, she could hear Cisco's constant pop-culture references and smell his hair product there in the room with them. "Is it because it's older than the rest of the tech here? And even if he modified the printer on our Earth, he couldn't do anything to _this_ one to send a transcript through the multiverse without—"

"Hey," Wally interrupted, palms up. "I got nothing. I just work here."

Caitlin paused, gathering herself. His light tone brought her back to the present. The line _I just work here_ pushed a smile out and in his direction. It was easier to smile, having a coworker in S.T.A.R. Labs after so many months of just a hero and his high-heeled conscience. "Sorry. I should've learned a long time ago not to question Cisco's methods…however unorthodox. Here." Reluctantly, she passed the blueprints back to their rightful owner. "You'll know more about what to do with this than I would."

Wally shrugged, glancing down at the information. "I gotta say, it's…" He chortled a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Some fancy stuff. But I like a challenge."

He sounded so like the Kid Flash she knew. Caitlin's smile grew. "Good luck. And—thank you, Wally," she added quickly. "I know it's a lot to take in, but…you have no idea what you're doing for me."

All he seemed able to do was to beam and look at his shoes for a moment. She could see how the praise made him taller just by watching the corners of his mouth relax.

She'd almost made it to the corridors when he called after her, suddenly curious: "Hey—Caitlin!"

She turned on her heel.

"Where's Savitar at?" Wally's eyes screwed up—he looked very Iris in the moment. "I haven't seen him all day."

Caitlin could have pointed out he hardly saw the speedster anyway. She could've made up some excuse. But the unexpected reminder that he _wasn't_ just zipping around the city doing his thing—that he had deliberately left and had been gone too long—made her stomach curl and her brain hesitate for a moment. Worry couldn't stay away. Not even blueprints from her best friend could keep it back.

Breaching her silence, Wally offered a bit awkwardly, still cheery, "On the run?"

Caitlin blinked, clearing her throat. "Yes," she said curtly, tightly. "He's on the run."

* * *

She remembered it while she was wiping down the white winding desk. She remembered the last time she and Ronnie had fought. It couldn't really be called fighting—and the two of them, so different, could argue like children when the moment was right. It wasn't that way then. Ronnie had done most of the arguing.

They'd been walking out of the Pipeline together at the time—Ronnie had proposed a month ago and the two had been very much entwined in one another. Caitlin had never known anybody could look as warm as Ronnie did, and Ronnie could smile at her like she was brighter and funnier and better than she knew she was.

Ronnie had started it, actually.

Caitlin had mentioned with delight that they were close to finishing the particle accelerator, and when she'd speculated about the future—about what they would do once the machine was built, once the work was over and they'd gone on their honeymoon and come back—Ronnie had interrupted her, voice tight. Ronnie never interrupted her. He always listened and waited for her to finish.

"Cait, we can't just come running back to S.T.A.R. Labs."

She'd glanced up at him, gait faltering, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"After this—thing—goes online?" Ronnie glanced backward, where the spotless blue-lit hallways led to Wells' masterpiece, with undisguised exasperation. He'd been there more nights than anyone—apart from maybe Cisco—working nonstop to get the massive project finished. "You guys keep saying everything will be different."

Caitlin's mouth gaped a little. Ronnie so rarely became agitated. He was a passionate person, but most of those emotions were positive, from what she'd seen. If he was angry, it was always over something worthy of the fire. And though she could understand how done he probably wanted to be with the accelerator, it _would_ be her crowning achievement, the next step in her career. She felt the need to defend it, and the nerd in her seized the opportunity to be heard. "Ronnie, it—it's going to change the world. Life as we know it will be _drastically_ —"

He interrupted her again. A new record for her future husband. "I know, that's what I'm saying. Who knows what you'll be doing after this? Where Dr. Wells' big project's gonna take you? You, Cisco. Everybody here." He stopped walking, still holding her hand. "When we come back after the wedding, what if everything changes?"

Caitlin tilted her head. He wasn't talking about the world in general, about the revolutionary product of all their hard work. He was talking about them. The forthcoming Mr. and Mrs. Raymond. "The world won't be the same," she murmured after a moment more of thought, watching him. "But that doesn't mean _we'll_ change."

Ronnie shook his head, almost halfway, at a speed that told Caitlin she wasn't picking up what he was putting down. "You could be gone at—I don't know—big press conferences with Wells, or—fancy dinners with guys in white collars."

Caitlin grinned, nearly laughing at the image, but Ronnie seemed to be swallowing amusement of his own to get his point across, eyebrows dipping into a scowl.

"Across the country winning science awards, far away from normal life. It could happen, Cait. Easy." His mouth stretched thin. "If we're gonna do this, I want us to be sure—that even if we all grow an extra eye after the accelerator goes online, you and I are still _us_." A slight crooked smile. "Stable."

"Actually, genetically speaking, the possibility of us growing an _extra_ eye would be far—"

"Cait."

Caitlin shook her head and looked intentionally into those big brown eyes. "Ronnie, even if, in a year from now, I become a scientific _superstar_ —and I _am_ only a biological consultant; Dr. Wells came up with the idea—even if I'm worlds away…" She tightened her grip on the warm, strong hand she'd been holding. "It can't change you and me. I can't imagine not needing you anymore."

* * *

The Keep Doctor Snow Busy list was complete and carried out by nightfall. The Cortex had been cleaned, Wally was still hard at work in the engineering wing down the hall—waving off Caitlin's attempts to get him to go home and rest—and their criminal prisoners had been fed and taken care of. The antidote for Stein's wife had been monitored on and off all day, and there was no change to suggest it would need more work before being shipped off to do its part in saving a life. Caitlin's room was fully tidy, organized, and re-organized. Eddie had been called to go over Joe's case file—which said nothing the two of them did not already know. In fact, because it clearly left out Mick Rory's involvement, it said _less_ than what the two of them already knew. Caitlin had tackled problem after problem throughout the day. It was like trying to carry an armload of groceries, doing battle against that ever-tedious second trip out to the car. Keeping her eyes on the house—or in this case, the end of the day—and trying to ignore the ache in her arms or the lack of balance in her feet. In this case, ignoring the worry.

But it was 11 PM now. She'd given the prisoners their very last check-ups and was walking back to her room. The biting-her-lower-lip dread would not be sent to the back of the line again. It had reached the front, and Caitlin could find nothing else to put in its way.

On Earth-1, whenever she got too anxious, an arm around the shoulder from Cisco could push it down in minutes, when it had taken Caitlin a week just to keep it from showing on her face. Dr. Wells would present her with a task, a knowing purse to his lips and a glint in sharp, dark eyes, and the fears would be banished to the back of her mind, because Dr. Wells needed her and she didn't have time to be afraid. Ronnie would take her hand and they would _leave_. They'd leave her apartment, or S.T.A.R. Labs, or the sidewalk they were strolling down, and he'd physically change her surroundings—most often without warning—to make her head clear. They'd eat pizza and he would make her laugh and nothing was all _that_ bad anymore, come on, Cait, really.

It was different when Barry showed up. Ever since he'd gotten struck by lightning and had donned that red suit, when Caitlin was worried—and there was _so_ much more to be worried about after the particle accelerator disaster—distractions didn't quite do the trick any longer. Barry sat beside her or stood across from her and looked at her and forced her to talk about it.

Maybe not _forced_. She felt she really could do it with Barry. She could say what was bothering her—she could snap it and snarl it, even if he was the reason behind it—and there was a feeling of oxygen and clarity that she hadn't realized was possible before. The others helped remove her from the problem. Barry removed the problem from _her_.

But there was no one here on Earth-66 to do any of that. She'd used up every obstacle she could think of. Now it was time for bed, and as she went to the closet down the hall to get clean sheets, Caitlin was terrified.

 _What if I never get back home? What if Savitar's gone for good? How will I stop Mick Rory on my own? I don't have super speed. I can't take the necklace off. Where did he go? What if he's really in danger? What if he's suffering from some kind of multiverse-flux-induced imbalance and I don't have anything to treat him with? He's an anomaly. The only thing keeping him safe from_ other _anomalies is that stupid Cuff. Why isn't he back?_ Why _didn't he take his comms? I shouldn't have said temporary. I'm not just his teammate. What if he hates me? He'll never forgive me. It was a ridiculous thing to imply. I can't believe he just ran off. If Wally doesn't succeed, I'm_ stuck _here. Stuck here without Savitar, because Savitar won't come back. Clarissa's cure may not even be submitted to the hospital. What if I've wasted all this time? What if I gave up my Earth for nothing? What if he runs the Cuff right off? Did Cisco remember to brace it for any unstable bouts of Speed Force energy? What if they all forget me here? What if Barry tries to run here and the effort burns him up? I'm not just his teammate. Should I try to track him again? Should I check the news? I cannot just_ sit _here. What if he never comes back?_

Caitlin began to wonder if she'd had this headache all day and hadn't realized it until now.

As she got her bed all made and comfortable, curling up and trying to dismiss the pounding in her temple, her eyes flew open. She'd left Cisco's walkie-talkie in the Cortex. If he'd managed to make the printer work, he could manage the communicator too. Maybe in the middle of the night. But she wouldn't know because she'd be doing unnecessary things like _sleeping_ —

And she was on her way to the Cortex. For what felt like the fortieth time that day.

The emergency lights were still on; the room was low-lit and the computers were shut down. The silence in their base of operations was foreign to Caitlin. She'd spent so many overnighters in Earth-1's version of this lab; the lack of electronic hums and ruffling papers turned it into a completely different place for her. It was like coming to an evening Open House in your elementary school, feeling baffled and out-of-place when the entire staff wasn't there, when it was dinner-dark outside the classroom window instead of sunny and tempting.

Caitlin spied the communicator sitting innocently on the white winding desk, squinting at it sternly. She wouldn't have to walk all the way up here if she'd just taken it to bed in the first place. But she'd been running around too much that day.

Or yesterday. It was past midnight now.

The clearing of a throat on the right-side dais made her jump nearly ten feet in the air.

Caitlin whirled around, visions of Kyle Nimbus' pale green gas filling the Cortex making her heart rate quicken. But it wasn't Nimbus.

Savitar came onto the main level and walked up to her. He was wearing the same clothes he'd been in when he'd raced out, and was working his jaw as he moved. With a ginger, fragile expression, he held out a closed fist and opened it, revealing two round white pills. He'd brought her aspirin.

"I thought you might have a headache by now," he explained throatily.

Caitlin dropped the walkie-talkie and threw her arms around him.

He huffed a little bit, like she'd hit him in the chest, but slowly hugged her back. They stood like that for several minutes, Caitlin's headache dying out as if she'd been imagining it, the speedster's rigid stance melting.

"Sorry." Savitar said it so quickly and softly, it might've been another exhale.

She pulled backward, feeling her eyebrows pinch. "Sorry? Savitar— _I'm_ the one who should be sorry." Caitlin impatiently shoved a curled lock of hair out of her face, to see him better. "Everything I said—I was angry, it wasn't your fault—I should never have told—"

"Yeah," Savitar chortled quietly, as though amused, and glanced to the side. "It wasn't a good day for me either. So I guess we're even."

Caitlin stood a little straighter. "Where did you go? Why didn't you take the comms? You could've been _anywhere_ , I didn't know what to do!"

Savitar's eyebrows shot up. "You weren't _worried_ ," he moved past her, slipping the aspirin in her hand as he went by, "were you, Doctor Snow?"

Caitlin felt the corners of her mouth twitching; she tried to hide a grin at the teasing in his voice. "As a matter of fact, I _was_ , Flash." She didn't notice some of the light go out of those eyes at the name. "Someone who hits telephone poles and treats grocery robbers like they're in pro wrestling matches needs to be monitored."

"Baby-sat."

"Kept in check." Caitlin returned his smirk. It slid away after a moment, and she couldn't keep the guilt from swamping her any longer. She tried again to apologize, realizing that unless she said what she'd been rehearsing subconsciously all day, that same feeling of being unable to breathe—the feeling Barry Allen could clear from her—would be just as prominent now. "When I told you I was temporary, Savitar, it was—"

Savitar paused behind the white winding desk, looking back at her with a more serious expression. "I know." He pursed his lips. "And I know I'm making it harder."

She wanted to think he sounded like Barry. And he must have, scientifically, logically. He physically couldn't sound like anyone else. But for some reason, she couldn't picture Barry standing there in his place, talking to her with that gentle voice and those dipping eyebrows. All she could see was Savitar, in his dark clothes and bad posture and sleepy rasp.

Savitar hesitated for a few heartbeats, eyes moving from her to the keyboards and then the floor. "I want a team, Caitlin," he murmured. "I want friends. I want what—I _remember_ having." One side of his mouth quirked up and he glanced at her again, but it wasn't really a half-smile. It was a tired, exasperated look. "That's not the problem."

Caitlin felt her spirits lift in a way that they hadn't in months, hearing him say that. "Then what is?"

It was like he'd snap back to being hard and sardonic if she spoke too loudly. Like she'd wake him up to his norm. But something was different about him. In the short three minutes of silence that followed, she studied him.

Maybe he'd had too much time to think over the last 24 hours, maybe hearing her say all those awful things made him cautious about his temperament—whatever the reason, she could _see_ something was different. That this something was difficult to wear. He was having a hard time. He always seemed to be having a hard time. Barry had lost his parents, his powers, several friends and more than one hero figure in his life. He'd been through more fire than Caitlin cared to consider. But Savitar recalled doing all of that and _then_ had actually, physically lost what was left. Sometimes—no, too often—she forgot who he was, focusing too much on what he was. She tried to treat the wound without examining it at all.

Savitar met her eyes and remained still where Barry's head would have wagged slightly. He was working his jaw again. When he spoke, it was slowly, and Caitlin was a bit shaken to hear how carefully he went about it. Intentional, deep sincerity. It seemed awkward and frustrated, coming out of him.

"Even if I have them, it's not gonna be what I want." He kept pausing, as if giving her time to interrupt, but she waited, listening. "If Wally stays, Eddie stays. Stein." Savitar tapped the desk with a finger to emphasize as he continued. "I could have this whole _Earth_ worshipping the ground I walk on. It's not enough anymore. Caitlin—" Savitar stopped, swung his arm a little, and started again. He sped up, eyes darting to the exit and back. "I don't want—"

Frantic footsteps thundered over the first half of that last sentence, and Wally's voice interrupted any ending to it. Savitar was out of the Cortex, protecting his identity, before Caitlin could take another breath, just as Wally reached the entrance. He must have, with his speed, heard West coming in time to zip out before he was seen.

Wally leaned halfway on the arch, out of breath. Oblivious to the speedster's presence in the building. "I got it," he gasped out.

Caitlin had her brain full trying to look simultaneously as if Savitar _hadn't_ been there half a heartbeat before, in civilian form, and as if she _weren't_ in her pajamas, and as if Wally's interference was _not_ extremely irritating. This late at night. After fretting over the speedster all day and finally having a moment to talk to him and, for a change, listen to what he had to say to her.

"It's working," the non-Kid Flash tried again, eyes screwed up in an encompassing smile. He looked sweaty and very tired, but energy obviously flowed through him as he jittered in place, halfway back out into the corridor already. "I did it. Just hooked up the generator."

Caitlin didn't respond for a moment, trying to process what he was telling her. Her mouth bobbed open and shut as she tried to work out something between _you're amazing, thank you_ and _explain right now_.

Wally's voice finally became steady. "I think we can test Cisco's machine."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: This fic's got 7 more chapters to go, according to my outline. Hang in there. This monster's nearly slain. And as a reminder, check my Twitter account for updates on how close the chapters are to being done! ~Doverstar)**


	34. Chapter 34: System Error

**(Author's Note: You guys only had to wait a _week_ this time! Okay, I'm sorry, work has been dumb. Love you guys! -Doverstar)**

* * *

The generator made the engineer's wing hot.

Caitlin and Wally rushed into a wall of heat the moment Wally opened the door. Doctor Snow scrunched up her face, eyeing the generator as it hummed and rattled like a washing machine in the corner. Yes, it was autumn outside, and midnight was cold in S.T.A.R. Labs, but this was unnecessary. Warmth at this time of year and night should have been pleasant, but she felt suffocated.

"Are you sure it's not overheating?" she checked, pulling and pulling at the collar of her pajama top to try and get some air against her skin.

"The blueprints included a cooling system," Wally replied distractedly. He didn't seem to notice the temperature, though Caitlin could see now why he had been so drenched in the Cortex. "It just needs a second to kick in. Generator's only been on a couple minutes."

"And it's giving off that much power?" Caitlin made a face. "It's practically a sauna in this room!"

"Well—I mean, it's either that or the whole city goes dark." West knelt beside the generator, checking a few levers and a small screen attached to the right side. "Cisco was pretty specific about the schematics on this guy. Anything goes wrong and we could get a huge blackout, or…"

He paused and kept his head down, near the machine. Caitlin noted his hands were no longer moving.

"Or…?" she prompted, arms folded.

Wally turned to give her a cute little grimace. Pure nerves. "Or we all go down in flames."

Caitlin raised her eyebrows, pulling her mouth down at him.

His grimace wilted. He looked the way _her_ Wally did when she tried to help him with his chemistry homework afterhours in the Cortex. "You're not—lookin' freaked out."

"Sorry." She let her eyes flash wide once, moving around the generator to kneel beside him. "It wouldn't be the first good-to-worst odds I've faced."

"You guys blow stuff up for fun on your— _other_ Earth?"

"No." She chewed her lip, then held up a finger as an afterthought soared into view. "But there was a black hole above the city at one point—"

Wally waved his hands hard, trying not to laugh. "You know what, uh, let's forget it. I don't wanna know. No black holes. No…" he flicked another switched and the rattling stopped, "…big explosions, none of that. Seriously. I am too tired and too hungry for this not to work."

Caitlin looked at him sideways, caked with sweat, and decided not to mention the many times she'd offered him food while he worked.

He opened a small compartment on the side facing the breach-creator's frame. Then, suddenly, as if he'd just remembered something: "Oh oh oh, Caitlin, check this out, look at this." He waved her closer with a hand, pointing.

Caitlin leaned down. Encased in the compartment by blue-stained glass was a large, scarlet…

Wally's grin made his eyes bigger. Browner. "It's literally a big red button."

She couldn't help chortling, lifting a shoulder in a halfway shrug. "Well, what happens if we _press_ the big red button?"

"It's supposed to power up the breacher." His grin froze, but not in the way smiles do when someone battles them. It was still a positive expression, just a more serious one. "If it works…you won't be stuck here anymore."

Caitlin's laughter died in her throat at the thought. Fragile hope put a lump there instead. She'd hoped for a lot of things in the past five years. A lasting marriage with a pizza-loving structural engineer. A promising career in scientific advancements. A life without nightmares. That Barry would make it back to S.T.A.R. Labs in one piece—every time. That she would finally do something that mattered on the team. That she'd be rid of Killer Frost for good. That Savitar would have the best life possible, most recently.

She'd watched plenty of those dreams fall flat, had been met with disappointment more often than satisfaction. Ronnie died. The particle accelerator failed. Killer Frost was still in there somewhere. Nightmares plagued her every night. Her trip to Earth-66 had become a slight disaster. Savitar seemed more confused than content.

Caitlin was almost afraid to hope for this. To hope for something as normal and relatable as being able to just go home. She didn't know if she could withstand one more plummet, one more heartbreak. Especially this one. Not being allowed to return to her family, to the world she belonged to, might be too much, after everything she had lost in life. She was always losing the battles. How could she line up for yet another fight?

Wally was watching her, as if trying to read what was probably a mixed expression.

 _Stop focusing on_ you. The boy in front of her had worked tirelessly, desperate to please. Chewing her nails over getting her hopes up could wait.

"Wally," she began, realizing she hadn't praised him enough, "getting this generator built, without any outside help—getting _this_ far in a job that should be completely impossible for—well, for anyone _but_ Cisco—" Caitlin bit her lip. She was rambling. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know how you keep saying you want to be like Savitar? Make a difference?"

He nodded.

"This is what that looks like." She threw a hand out, gesturing to the generator and the frame. "You just built an incredible machine with secondhand blueprints from another world in a couple of _days_. For someone you hardly know—because you wanted to help." Caitlin nudged him a bit with her shoulder. "You officially qualify as a hero." She rolled her eyes. "And I can spot that kind of talent a mile away. Trust me. I've worked with several."

Wally looked almost embarrassed, ducking his head to hide a big smile. "I owed you one."

Caitlin wanted to shake her head, wanted to reprimand him for downplaying his hard work, but he didn't give her the chance.

"Okay. Let's see what we got."

There was a loud _WHIRRR_ as Wally pressed the big red button.

She almost wished he had waited a moment. Long enough for her to get her thoughts together, at least. But she came to the conclusion that the longer she waited for this to happen, the more time she'd have to fret. Another Keep Doctor Snow Busy list wouldn't have been enough. She should be grateful he'd done it the Barry Allen way—fast and careless.

The orange extension cord running from the back of the generator actually wobbled a touch on the floor as energy raced through it. Caitlin thought she smelled something burning, but a moment later it was gone, and she realized she'd just been expecting it. All in her head. The frame did not shake, however. Wally had managed to get it fully standing—no longer leaning against a wall, polished and dormant. It stood immovable as the generator worked its magic, pumping power into the machine.

Caitlin stared almost pleadingly at the open circle of air the frame surrounded. A spark. A flicker. Anything. Anything to signify success.

There was a slight rush of wind behind them, and Caitlin turned in surprise—any disturbance should've been coming from in front of them, where the frame was, not in the opposite direction—but it was only Savitar. He had joined them, this time in full costume. Caitlin couldn't judge his expression with the mask on.

Wally glanced at the speedster when he came in, but that was all he did. At this point he seemed too nervous to greet his hero with that same friendly energy. He devoted the rest of his attention to his work-in-progress.

"Is it working?" Savitar asked bluntly.

"We'll see," was Caitlin's quiet, distracted reply.

A roar, like lightning dancing with a windstorm, consumed the room. Caitlin felt her heart shoot skyward as a blinding light flashed and twisted in the frame. _A breach_. She heard, over the din, Wally make some kind of exclamation, but whether it was more akin to choking or laughing she couldn't have said.

The shade of blue the portal held was familiar and possibly Caitlin's new favorite color. Around it, a cloud of electric white churned, with a kaleidoscope of brighter and darker blues darting in and out of the center. The heat in the engineer's wing seemed to be dissipating as the light grew stronger, and the smell of metal became overcome with a scent sort of like mountain air and asphalt mixed together. Caitlin recalled thinking Cisco began to naturally smell a bit more like this in the first few weeks of discovering his vibing abilities.

Her hair whipped around her, in her eyes, across her back, over her shoulders. Caitlin felt an almost cautious smile straining the corners of her mouth. "Wally—" she shouted, " _You did it_!"

Wally said something—he might have cursed, actually—but as he was closer to the breach than she was by this time, she couldn't hear it. He did turn to look at her excitedly over a shoulder, though, teeth bared in a grin even larger than her own, and stagger a bit. She got the feeling he would point to the portal like a child at a balloon if Savitar weren't in the room.

Speaking of the speedster…

Caitlin glanced back at her friend, suddenly desperate to share her relief with someone close, and saw Savitar looking into the portal intently, as if trying to see anything through the haze of blue. For the first time, Caitlin considered the possibility that he missed the Earth he remembered as much as she did. The thought of him visiting it, even after she'd returned home, was a welcome one. But he didn't seem happy, or hopeful. The most she could glean from watching him was a guardedness she had mastered herself a long time ago. His mouth was drawn, and between the black leather of his mask she could see a kind of shadow in his eyes. He didn't meet her gaze.

Caitlin moved closer to the breach, taking it one slow, restrained step at a time. She wanted to reach out and put her hand in, feel the cold and the rush she had the last time she'd walked back into Earth-1 for a visit and some pizza. To make it real, to make the hope solid.

But just as she lifted a hand, as suddenly as it had come, the breach was gone.

There was a kind of electric buzz, and the frame shook at last. Then it was empty, and the portal had disappeared, and Caitlin faltered as though walking in new heels.

The generator was still going. Unlike the frame, it bore no change. The hum was the same. The heat levels began to slowly return to the room.

Caitlin couldn't form words. But the speedster could.

"What happened?" Savitar asked, voice still hard but with a curious tint to it.

Caitlin, heart slowing, blood draining from her cheeks, turned to Wally for answers, who looked as if he might throw up. His chest was heaving; both hands laced behind his head.

"I-I don't…" Wally's sneakers squeaked on the floor as he rushed back to the generator, checking the extension cord, checking all the switches. "I don't know, I didn't…" He trailed off, too preoccupied with fixing whatever had gone wrong.

Caitlin joined him beside the generator, dropping into a crouch, watching his hands fly over the equipment. _One…two…three—three—four…three, four…five…_ It wasn't working. What came after five? She couldn't count. It made her even more frustrated, somehow. It stressed her out. She abandoned the practice, inhaling through her nose. Wally was almost shaking next to her.

But before two sets of panic could break out—Wally's and Caitlin's seemed to match one another's—a new, quietly awed voice sounded from the doorway.

"Forgive me for the intrusion," Professor Stein stood there, arms limp, eyes glued to the dormant frame. "But would anyone care to explain what I just saw?"

* * *

Apparently, at 1:45 AM, Professor Stein had arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs to retrieve his briefcase. He'd left it in the med bay when he and Caitlin had been securing the Nimbus antidote, putting a nice sturdy check-mark on the Keep Doctor Snow Busy list while Savitar had been missing in action. He had only remembered his mistake—as plenty of creative people do—when trying to get some sleep for the night, well-exercised brain slower to exhaustion than the rest of him. According to Stein as Caitlin sat him down right there in the engineer's wing to demand what he was doing there at _this_ ungodly hour, he had important documents Clarissa's hospital would need to see in that briefcase, and couldn't sleep knowing it wasn't safe in his home. In her concern to remain preoccupied, away from Savitar's obvious absence, Caitlin hadn't even seen the briefcase yesterday.

The result of all this? The professor, on his way to the med bay, had heard the commotion coming from the breach machine. Stein had entered the room just in time to see Wally's and Cisco's joint creation explode to life and then, to the surprise of all watching, fail much too quickly.

And now, renowned scientist that he was, Earth-66's Martin was foaming at the mouth with intrigue.

As Wally checked and quadruple-checked the breach machine, Stein sat in the little metal work chair Caitlin had ushered him into, working up a sweat that was probably more due to his excitement than the room's overenthusiastic temperature. Question after question shot from the old man, to Caitlin's dismay and Savitar's obvious impatience behind them.

"That energy, that-that-that _rift_ that just— _appeared_ —am I correct in assuming it was a vortex, perhaps…er, something transdimensional?"

At this, Caitlin stammered, "It—it _is_ , but…" she faltered, unsure where to begin, and Stein's eyes lit up with the confirmation. He went on, clearly encouraged.

"I knew it! But—isn't this all a bit too _Stephen King_ to be authentic? He took off his glasses, squinting at the frame. "The characteristics, that crackling pattern—the hue—and what kind of containment is that, the substructure? How is it able to maintain the raw _power_ I saw?" A sharp brown look. "What other experiments are you conducting here, Miss Snow?"

"I'm not—"

"Illegally, without a doubt. I-Is this some kind of exploration, a test of the natural human curiosity? How did you manage to achieve something like this with such limited resources? Just the three of you?"

Several times Stein tried to stand, tried to get a closer look at Wally's breach machine, but Caitlin, expression slack, kept him from it.

"And, and Savitar—" Stein waved a hand toward the speedster, whose head tilted back a tad in exasperation at being dragged into the nerdy monologue. "Your abilities, your speed, in theory, could create just such a highway—what need do any of you actually have for something like this?"

Caitlin opened her mouth to start combatting some of the questions, but she found nothing would come out. Her brain had frozen (no pun intended). All she could think of was how quickly the breach had gone. She could feel the eyes of Earth-66's Fastest Man Alive boring into her from behind.

There was a flash of light as Savitar sped from the engineering wing and back, returning with an expensive black briefcase. When Stein didn't take it from him, he set it down in the scientist's lap.

"There. You got what you came for. Time to go back home, Professor." Savitar's tone was calm, almost like a mature young nephew guiding grandpa back from a doddering sleepwalk.

Stein scoffed, blowing out his cheeks. "Excuse me, but I just witnessed the unraveling of time and space as I knew it. I think I am owed an explanation."

"You haven't stopped talking since you showed up," Savitar replied, undaunted by the teacher-reprimanding-you stare Stein was giving him. "You shouldn't be here."

"I believe your young friend there doesn't belong here either," argued Stein. He nodded to Wally, whose back was still turned to the three of them. "Surely it's past his bedtime?"

"He was invited."

"I-I fail to see how that bears any—"

"Stop," Caitlin huffed, shutting her eyes. She could feel another headache coming on. It was too late in the night—no, too early in the morning—for this. "Professor, he's right. You shouldn't be here."

Stein gaped at her, looking very offended. His knuckles grew white where he gripped his briefcase.

Caitlin stared down at him, willing herself to tie this problem up in a nice box and store it away. The way she'd tried to do with everything. The way Team Flash was always so good at. Prioritizing. But without her Cisco there, her best friend, without Harry or Joe—or _Barry_ , with his quick thinking and his ability to pick the next right thing over everything else, every time, without his level voice and the determined set of his jaw—she wasn't sure how to start. She couldn't focus. Did she come clean to Stein, all at once, at 2 o'clock in the morning? The poor man might never sleep again. If he was anything like Earth-1's version—and experience suggested he was—he'd be up late for the rest of his days, writing calculations and scheming on how to travel through the multiverse himself. All in the name of science and productivity and more science. And if that wasn't the way to go, how to dissuade him? How could she distract him from the colossal failure he'd just seen? From such an out-of-this-world attempt? It couldn't be done. And none of that mattered—because she _couldn't go home_!

But Savitar anchored her.

All at once, he was at her shoulder, bearing down on Stein quietly, talking in a familiar tone. One she'd just been wishing she would hear.

"We need to know we can trust you."

" _Trust_ me? What is this, a late-night showing of _CSI_?"

Caitlin jolted back to the present. Back to logical thinking. She glanced at Savitar in surprise at what his words implied.

Savitar looked back at her, gaze questioning.

Suddenly she could read him. The way she and another very fast young man with intelligent, clear eyes could communicate from across a room. She could practically hear his rough undertones. It was easy, so easy, so familiar.

 _What do you want to do here?_

A slight purse of her lips, a quirk of her eyebrows. _What do_ you _want to do?_

Tiny shake of his head. _Do we have a choice?_

She nodded, just barely.

 _We tell him._

 _We tell him._

This felt good. Caitlin hadn't been that in sync with someone else since her last trip home for pizza and a transmogrifier. She'd met her friends at S.T.A.R. Labs and she and Barry had happened to be wearing the same shade of blue. Teammates _did_ make decisions together—doing it with Savitar was as natural as blinking. He hadn't even seemed to think about it when he'd glanced at her. He could read her, too.

"Professor Stein," Caitlin began carefully, crouching across from his chair. Trying not to look at the silent breach machine. "I'm going to tell you what I told Wally. But you can't repeat it, and—I need you to wait to ask questions until I'm finished."

Looking as though he were swallowing indignancy, Stein lowered his eyelids and made a great show of closing his mouth.

* * *

Savitar had to actually get used to the sound of Stein's voice all over again.

Barry had read several books by the other Earth's Martin Stein. He'd followed all of Stein's websites, had seen several interviews. He hadn't been quite as highly ranked in Allen's mind as Harrison Wells once had, but he was definitely up there. After having _met_ Stein on Earth-1, following the particle accelerator accident, Barry had rewritten what he'd thought of the genius and had counted him as less of an idol and more of a friend. But he'd had to become acquainted with a different kind of scary-smart babble than the rest of his companions'. He'd had to learn that all the stammering was due to Stein's brain moving faster than his mouth could. He'd had to gauge the lack of expression on the old man's face as he went on a scientific tangent, finding emotions in his tones rather than his eyes or his hands.

Here, with this not-too-different Stein having just been handed the possibility of another universe—by _visitors_ from said other universe—it was ten times harder adjusting.

Caitlin's inability to shut up was contagious on this Earth. Everyone she brought into the building just would not stop talking long enough for things to get done.

At first, Stein had gone through a few skeptical stages. He couldn't behave as if what Caitlin was telling him was false. He had witnessed the breach opened; everything she was saying was easily proven with the sight of the portal alone. But Savitar could see him just _itching_ to disbelieve any of it, all of it. Scientists thought so much about the impossible—they spent as much time trusting in it as they did trying to debunk it. But what could he say, in the face of his unassuming discovery just thirty minutes earlier?

Caitlin had been deliberate in her explanation. She'd started with Barry—she always seemed to. In everything.

She'd started with Barry and she'd ended with hiring Wally. A young man on another Earth, struck by lightning, saving the world. Countless losses, leading to the introduction of Savitar himself—Caitlin didn't seem to think the words _evil doppelganger_ or the Let's Murder Iris West 2017 agenda were important enough to mention, though she went through his origins lengthily enough. When she finally arrived at the present, Stein's questions were actually slow at first.

He wanted her to explain him again. To explain Savitar, where he came from, what events had transpired to create him. Savitar had cut in, giving Stein a non-emotional handbook version of the novel he could've written about 2024, along with his plan to become a god. Once Stein had heard it from Savitar, it seemed to make more sense. He didn't even need a whiteboard.

After that, a few questions regarding Cisco Ramon, the creator of the blueprints Caitlin handed him. The breach machine blueprints. Savitar, eyes moving faster than any of them could breathe, looked each page over thoroughly as Caitlin spoke. They confirmed what he'd already suspected about this potential lifesaver Caitlin had hooked so much hope into. He'd built his own suit of armor; he could predict what kind of pieces it would take to create a doorframe for the gateway to Earth-1. But he wasn't an engineer—the metal suit was one thing. Something like this, something so obviously suited for Ramon, was different. He remembered a timeline where he, despite the knowledge of millennia backing him, couldn't turn the Speed Force Bazooka into what he'd needed without Cisco's help. Barry Allen was above-average where intelligence was concerned; so was Savitar. But he wasn't a mechanic.

Relieving, though, to see he'd been right about the schematics of this thing. _Still got it_. He allowed himself a boyish quirk of a smile in the half-a-second it took to read the blueprints on his own.

When Stein was finished asking questions, Caitlin offered to take him to the Cortex.

"We both know no one's getting any more sleep tonight," she'd sighed, pointedly turning away from the generator, the breach frame. "We might as well make the most of it."

"I don't want to impose," Stein protested, standing and following her to the exit.

"Too late," Savitar muttered, pushing past the two of them and opening the door.

Caitlin glanced back at West once before they left. "I'll be right back, Wally," she called, in a too-controlled voice.

Wally didn't look around.

Stein cleared his throat. "Really. I can curb any more questions, er, theories, regarding your tale I might have for now, if that's what you're worried about. Were I you, after such a harrowing disappointment, I'd want the chance at some rest."

But Caitlin shook her head as they walked through the corridors, Savitar trailing behind them, not feeling much like running. He felt more like catching his breath. A rarity. The sound of the breach erupting to life was still making his head pound.

"I don't think rest is possible for me, after all this," she repeated hoarsely. "Besides—we still need a battle strategy for getting that antidote into the hospital."

Her smile was forced. Savitar could see it; Stein could probably see it too. And she had forgotten to do away with her lipstick before heading to bed hours earlier. A pale peach color. It suited her. She always went for subtle. Though, Savitar decided with a slight twitching in the corners of his mouth, it was doubtful Stein had noticed _that_ too.

The old man hesitated, then seemed to give in. "I won't say no to progress," he admitted. "Lead the way."

* * *

Savitar was in and out of the Cortex periodically as Caitlin and Stein brainstormed. He had no interest in hanging around while they calculated and re-calculated. Their little plan to save Stein's wife had led to many such debates in the most popular room in the building, and frankly, Savitar was tired of walking in on them. And he was hungry.

Caitlin would have restocked the mini fridge in the med bay. She acted like he'd never think to look there for her own, new, personal stash of strawberry Jell-O. New in this dimension, maybe, but if memory served, Caitlin had the same secret stash on the first Earth. In the same spot. Every weekend it was replenished, and every weekend Barry and Cisco would go and raid it. Then they'd put on cute little puppy dog faces when she stormed in and demanded to know where it had all gone.

He didn't race to the med bay; he could use a walk. He'd been dashing around for a full day and a half, trying to shake familiar, irritating friends like frustration and anxiety that kept threatening him with their company. His argument with Caitlin—the day Eddie had helped catch Snart—had made outrunning those friends harder.

Savitar found the fight going out of him more quickly these days, when at odds with the bioengineer. Before, he'd felt the need to take her down a few pegs, to get _some_ sort of non-noble response from her. It was entertaining, and it felt good. Then, when that need went away, sometime between Nimbus' attack and his 84th coffee run for her, any other sort of provoking comment was just natural for him. He wasn't happy-go-lucky Barry Allen anymore, racing to keep everyone else happy and safe. More often than not, he woke up in a bad mood. That happened to disposable lives. They got up angry.

He didn't rise to the rage that was always sitting inside anymore. It didn't all magically go away just because Caitlin batted her eyes and treated a few bullet wounds, of course. It was still there—he simply didn't keep trying to use it for everything. He didn't call upon it when trying to find the right answer to a question, or when Caitlin was nagging him, or when a meta interrupted one of his runs. All he'd had, for eons, was anger and bitterness and pain. He'd depended on it. He couldn't be Barry Allen anymore—so where else could he find his identity but that mountain of hurt? Golden boy Barry could be pretty cutting if he just gave in once in a while.

He hadn't needed to lean on it for some time now. The hole Team Flash 2024 had created was slowly being filled, and suddenly it wasn't as easy to dip into that pool of fury.

But Caitlin had given him a reason to, the day Lisa and her semi struck. Ever since she'd discovered she was unable to return to Earth-1, she'd had tunnel vision. It was all she wanted to focus on.

He couldn't blame her for wanting to help Stein, to help Wally and Eddie. It was in his nature to be surly, and it was in hers to give herself away—give up her time, her efforts, her brainpower, to those in need. She'd always wanted to help people. So had Barry.

Running for a full day with nothing but his thoughts, he'd come to that conclusion. Her desire to help people was not what made him so upset, what made him fight her. It was the idea that, once she'd figured out how to go home, she would completely toss him aside. Throw him at the three pet projects she'd taken on and never finished while she went back to her _real_ life. That she'd forget all about him.

It had only been made more poignant by the words _temporary teammate_.

She was always supposed to leave. She was never supposed to _stay_ on Earth-66. But this softer version of him—the mud she'd made of the road he'd paved clearly to get to where he wanted to be—he wasn't sure this new, fuller Savitar would be able to live with that outcome.

He didn't have to think about it now. The breach machine hadn't worked yet, and writhing inside over Caitlin's eventual departure could be put on hold. Nobody wanted to worry about what hadn't happened yet. That was _her_ department.

Savitar had nearly made it to the med bay when he ran into Wally.

Before the boy could physically collide with him, the speedster stopped short, and Wally faltered in step too, barely looking around. Savitar vibrated, just enough to become unrecognizable. Wally was the only civilian on this Earth that had seen him outside his suit, and though he was wearing it now, he didn't care for the theatrics should West discover they'd already met. Savitar wasn't sure if it was because he missed the worship he'd gotten back in the Stone Age, or if he just didn't have time for all the blind reactions he'd recieve.

Wally didn't seem to mind the secrecy, though Savitar knew he was aware of Earth-1, of where he and Caitlin had come from. Seeing the hero's face shouldn't have made _that_ much of a difference. Actually, he didn't seem to have much care for anything at the moment. He was limp; his shoulders nearly reaching his ears; his head was bent so low. Savitar could hear, before West had halted completely, the soles of his sneakers dragging along the ground as he walked, not bothering to pick up his feet. He smelled like sweat and oil—in short, like an engineer. His orange hoodie was tied around his waist, 6th-grader style.

When Savitar didn't blast past him, Wally finally looked up, face blank. Or impatient.

Savitar raised his eyebrows. Obviously West was expecting something. So he rasped, "You look like Hell."

Wally nodded, scratching at the bridge of his nose. "Been a long day."

He pursed his lips, nodded halfway, and continued down the corridor, moving like he should've had a cane to support him. He wasn't carrying the equipment Savitar had seen him with the past couple of weeks. He must have left it in the engineering wing.

"You're leaving," Savitar called after him, turning slightly. It was only halfway a question.

Wally glanced over his shoulder, slowing down. "Yeah." He exhaled—not exactly a sigh. "I'm just…really tired."

Savitar watched him for a moment. There was a desperation in those eyes. He'd seen it in Barry's memories too often. The Wally Savitar remembered had grown up with a loving mother, but he'd been missing half a life. The result of an absent father, of only a fraction of a family, could turn most kids sour. It gave them an excuse to try and make everyone around them feel just as lacking. But never Wally. Wally had inherited the West _I Have To Help People_ gene, and he'd always tried. Tried everything to be more. And this Earth's Wally seemed to mirror that, if for different reasons, and with an even sweeter, more energetic temperament. He, like Earth-1's Kid Flash, was constantly moving, attempting to become something better than what he was. And when he failed—when he came close but fell short—his eyes were the same way every time.

Savitar tilted his head, just a peppering of surprise in his tone. "You don't wanna stick around, figure out what's wrong with the breacher?"

Wally stopped, squinting. He licked his lips. "I mean, I don't know what else _I_ can do. It's busted, I can't…"

He trailed off, shaking his head. Giving the speedster another second to study him, in a way that took regular people a few minutes of concentration and glassy stares as their minds drifted. The second was all he needed.

Since Savitar had arrived here, he'd been looking at Wally-66 and seeing the wheelchair-bound student of 2024. He hadn't wanted to see him differently. It effortless to watch him trailing after Caitlin, talking passionately about his dad or his new job, and to see someone else in his shadow. Someone who had been basically a human vegetable since his sister's death—but had been able to come out of it long enough to turn Savitar away like everyone else. Seeing the Wally on this Earth grinning and having it morph into the dead-eyed sag of the Wally on 2024 was easy.

But this Wally was not paralyzed. He wasn't against Savitar. He had never known Barry Allen. And for some reason, the words _I can't_ coming from the mouth of a young man who, from what Savitar recalled, had been overly confident in himself since day one—it made them two separate Wally Wests in his eyes at last. Savitar had once preyed upon the original Wally's pride. It was essential to his plan, to getting him out of the Speed Force. But the Wally slumped in the hall here was independent of that.

Savitar didn't _need_ the kid to fix the machine right away. Not like Caitlin did. That wasn't what made him turn and ask questions. Something—something in that softer section Caitlin had pulled out of him—was stirring. Something Barry used to feel, looking at his sidekick, looking at his brother. For a heartbeat or two, Savitar wanted to quell it, wanted to blink and see a wheelchair and a broken boy instead, but it wouldn't come.

"You're giving up," he concluded.

Wally rubbed an eye. "Look, I—wanted to help, but I'm not Cisco. I'm not this expert mechanic Caitlin thinks I am. I fix _cars_."

"So?" Savitar grunted, unmoved.

He wasn't in a rush to have the breach machine up and running again. The hungry way Caitlin had looked into that blue swirl was burned into the back of his mind. But something about Wally's stance, his tone, was nagging at him.

Wally faced him, as if irritated he wasn't getting it, but too polite to really make an outburst. Taking a few steps back toward the hero, he tried to explain, voice gravelly and getting harder. "I'm an intern, man. I've got literally no experience. I thought I could figure it out and do something—that _mattered_ , and it didn't happen. I wasn't the right guy for the job. 'Course the stupid thing didn't work, you know?" He scoffed, almost smiling, one of those ironic, unhappy smiles Savitar himself was fond of using. Then he pointed to the speedster. "You were right about me."

The former God of Speed crossed his arms. Listening.

"I don't belong here." He dragged a hand down his mouth, as though rubbing a goatee he didn't have. It slapped down against his leg. "Maybe Stein can figure it out; he's supposed to be a genius, right?" Wally's voice kept dropping, deeper, quieter, the way Joe's did when something was really bothering him and he wasn't ready to communicate, doing so anyway for someone else's sake. "I don't know why I thought I could do something like this. It's way out of my league. I'm not like you guys." He licked his lips. "Okay? I'm average."

"Average," Savitar repeated, a vein of skepticism wrapping its way around the word. The kid had been able to create _that_ machine on his own, in just days. A few little Skype lessons from Ramon and coffee-stained blueprints were all he'd had to go off of. Harrison Wells himself would have been impressed, which, if memory served, wasn't an easy feat. When he'd still been bent on becoming a god, Savitar knew, examining Wally from where he stood then, that this wide-eyed college student would have been an easy candidate for an acolyte. Someone resourceful. _Above_ average.

But he was too caught in his own head.

"Yeah," Wally huffed. "I'm not real fast, I'm not super smart, I'm just—me. Normal. I came outta that EXPO thing—after you saved my life? And I thought I was gonna make a difference. I thought, like, _This is it. No more messing around_." He rolled his eyes. "But the first chance I get to help somebody…I screw up."

"It's not your fault," Savitar argued quietly, determinedly, running a thumb along his upper left arm absently. He said it almost immediately after Wally had taken a breath, paused in his teenage, self-critical rant. He blinked slowly, making sure his tone was level, even. He could do calm, but gentle was hard when the other person wasn't Caitlin. Not quite there yet.

Maybe it was because he'd said the same thing once himself. _The first chance I get to help someone, I screw up._ The _real_ Flash had, anyway. Savitar recalled that feeling—a strained, agitated feeling of not being enough, no matter what gifts you wound up with. There was no doubt Earth-66's Wally West could relate. Savitar felt something old straightening his shoulders, lifting his head to look Wally in the eye, something nigh untouched for centuries inside him. Something very Barry Allen.

"Whose fault is it, man?" Wally countered. He was no longer the awestruck fanboy. He stood across from Savitar, really clearly frustrated with himself, heedless of annoying his hero, of losing face. "The machine didn't work because _I_ built it."

Savitar shook his head, face a clean picture of exasperation. "Okay." He showed a palm, keeping his tone light. "Okay, fine. So give up. I mean, they can't say you didn't try, right?" He leaned forward a little. "You went for it and it blew up in your face. I guess Caitlin thought you had more than one shot in you." He pulled his mouth down, shrugging. "She's been wrong before."

Wally gave him an extremely _Iris West_ look that said he knew what he was trying to say. "She said it's this kinda stuff that makes me a hero. But it was all a big waste of time. It didn't end up helping y'all, so I'm _not_ a hero."

"Right." Savitar agreed casually. "Because heroes don't give up after one setback." He turned, focusing again on getting that Jell-O. "But don't quote me on that. I don't have too much _experience_ being a hero."

On Earth-1, throwing West's words back at him had always worked during a training session in the Speed Lab. Nothing fired Wally up more than feeling stupid, and H.R. had taught Barry that sometimes getting under Kid Flash's skin was the best way to drag him out of his own head. In Wally's sense of foolishness about himself, he strove even harder to prove that sense wrong. To do away with it.

On Earth-66, the response wasn't dissimilar.

After a moment, Wally called out to him. "What if I stick around? And—say I do it all over again, right, and it _still_ breaks?" A glance over the shoulder told the speedster his eyes were bloodshot. The kid was exhausted; the glance he gave was fragile. "It breaks again. What happens then?"

Savitar walked backwards, palms up. "Guess you'll never know if you give up."

There was something he _did_ have experience with.

* * *

When he returned to the Cortex, having consumed each and every one of Caitlin's cartons of gelatin—save the one he was currently eating at his leisure—she and Stein were still talking. Savitar's eyelids drooped as he walked in, feeling sleepy simply from the atmosphere of the room. For science freaks like the two jabbering away on the west dais, the air was probably alive with possibility and plotting. But for speedsters who just wanted a moment with their uptight companions without the side projects distracting them, it was suffocating.

"I'll try to make an appointment with Clarissa's doctor sometime after sunrise," Stein was saying. "The man's utterly insufferable—supposedly the best in his practice, but considering how little time he's put into actually curing her, I have my doubts. Luckily," he added, "in my years of press meetings and conferences at the University, I find it's the insufferable ones that are easiest to sway."

Caitlin's smile was still forced. Savitar, seated behind the white winding desk with both feet propped up, could see with half a glance how exhausted she was. How hollow she felt. All because of a failed portal. It couldn't last.

"I'll keep the antidote here in the meantime," she announced, closing a new briefcase—this one metal, with the S.T.A.R. Labs logo etched onto both sides. "It's the safest place for it."

She paused, catching sight of Savitar. He waved his plastic spoon at her with faux cheeriness.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, in a tone that reminded him of the headache his missing-in-action stunt had given her earlier. Her eyebrows pinched. "That Jell-O had better not be from the med bay."

Savitar ignored that warning. "Saw your head engineer," he replied, jerking his head toward the exit. "I think he's on his way out."

Caitlin seemed to freeze up. "Wally's leaving?" She ran a hand through her hair; Savitar watched the curls bounce over her shoulder. She turned to Stein. "Professor—I know this has been a crazy night, and I know I've asked a lot of you lately, but—"

Stein was already raising both hands. "Yes yes yes, you're very sorry, you'll be right back, I know. You forget, Miss Snow, I've had a front-row seat to your hectic schedule for some time now." When she hesitated, as if trying to decide whether or not to be offended by his interruption, he gave her a tiny smile and raised his eyebrows. "Well? Go on!"

Caitlin rushed from the room, snatching Savitar's Jell-O from his hand on her way past him. It was nearly empty anyway.

When she had gone, Savitar stood to leave the Cortex. He might not get any real time alone with Caitlin for the remainder of the late hours at this rate. Might as well head to bed. Everything he wanted to say to her—everything that kicked at his pride, proved him wrong, turned his mouth to cotton—could wait. The conclusions he'd come to lately, especially while he'd been out running after their fight, were not easy to share. He didn't mind waiting another day. With the breach machine down, Caitlin wasn't going anywhere. That thought alone might help him to sleep with less nightmares tonight.

He glanced at Stein, who was still sitting silently up on the dais, on his way toward the exit.

While Caitlin had been on the scene, Stein's expression had been either all-business, or extremely curious (over their multiverse stories, obviously). Now that she was gone, it had folded down into a very tired, very vexed frown. Everyone had a mask of their own around here.

Stein caught Savitar watching him and did not attempt to put the mask back on. Instead he took off his glasses, wiping them down with a cloth he pulled from his jacket pocket. "I'm afraid that after all this time," he said aloud, to Savitar, to his shadow, to the air, "all this effort…if our attempts should fail—" He made a frustrated sound and slapped a hand against his knee. "Well—I couldn't say what I'd do next."

Savitar's eyes drifted to the wall, then to the floor. He wanted to go to bed. He didn't have to stay up any longer, listening to more whines about plans going astray.

But Stein stopped him by suddenly admitting, "I can't lose her."

Savitar stilled, back against the Cortex's exit archway.

"You'll pardon my confiding in you, I'm sure," Stein went on, waving a hand in Savitar's direction. "It's much easier spilling out your problems to strangers than to new friends." He nodded toward the corridor, indicating Caitlin. "I have a lasting good impression to maintain."

Savitar didn't say anything. Clearly the old man intended to 'spill'. What was the point in prolonging it with conversation?

"When I met Clarissa," Stein began, "I was spellbound. We fought like animals at first. I had never encountered anyone who could make me so— _unbalanced_. We went to the same college. Every theory I posed, she questioned. For every exceptional grade I received, she pushed me to do better, to _be_ better. A better man."

The Cortex smelled like glass cleaner; Caitlin must have cleaned while he'd been out. Savitar remained statuesque against the archway, but for his index finger, tapping the wall absentmindedly. The impatience to get to bed, to be alone, had drained away. Stein's voice was suddenly less grating to his ears. He was trained on every word. Almost hungry. Something was familiar in the picture the professor was painting, and Savitar was reluctant to move away from the canvas.

"I've come so close to reviving her now. It… _can't_ go wrong." Stein's mouth became a tight line; the same tight line it had been when confronting Nimbus in the pipeline. "There won't be anyone else like her. Not in my lifetime. Despite my academic success, despite how little time I actually dedicated to being her husband when my career really took off, she was always there. Waiting." He was turning an old ring over and over around his finger, tone tense. "God knows what I did to deserve her." He looked up at Savitar. "And now—if our little plan doesn't play out—I may lose the one person on this planet that really knew me, and _still_ chose me."

At that, Savitar felt as if the sound had been sucked from the room. He stared at the wall, arms folded tightly across his chest, not really seeing what he was looking at. _Really knew me, and_ still _chose me._ Why were those words sticking out so plainly?

Realizing that Stein was silent now, Savitar tore his eyes from space and sent them barreling back toward the old man. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, as though he hadn't just given it fresh exercise talking to Wally.

"I've known loss," he said quietly, matter-of-factly. It seemed an out-of-body confession, deadpan and slow. But he could tell Stein was listening. He heard the chair creak, saw the professor's hands grip his knees as he leaned forward slightly. "It changes you. Forever. You feel like a different person." He worked his jaw, eyes moving back to the floor. Picturing 2024 and an armored suit and a metal spear ready to strike. "I've lost everything." Savitar swallowed. "Even myself."

He could feel Stein watching him. He could hear him stepping down off the dais and onto the main floor, but coming no closer.

"I'm a teacher," Stein informed him, a little dryly. "You might say I _get off_ on telling people they're wrong."

The speedster scoffed, barely audible. Almost amused.

"And it seems to me that you have a very muddled view of your life, _Savitar_." He still said the name half admiringly, half patronizingly. As though he thought nicknames were unnecessary, childish. "For one thing, a man who sacrifices his days in the interest of helping others is not without an identity. And for another…" He did approach Savitar then, standing on the other side of the white winding desk. "You have _not_ lost everything."

Savitar looked up, trying to ensure his expression was blank. The leather mask ought to have helped, but for once, controlling his outward appearance was a struggle. Stein's words were clean air after being in a basement or a broken elevator or a garage all day. His elaboration made that air even sweeter.

"After all, you have Caitlin, don't you?" Stein reminded him sternly. "A real treasure, it would seem."

Savitar felt himself nodding, not hard, not even excessively. But it was a nice feeling, not to hide. To allow some positive advice, new comfort, to wash over him. To react. Martin Stein had no idea who he really was. What he'd done. But the way he'd described his wife—the way he was offering solace—did he have any inkling of what it was doing to him?

He felt like himself for a moment. Like Barry.

Fueled by the warmth spreading through him, by the realization that Stein had given him _facts_ —he had Caitlin, he was finding himself again, pulling it all in—Savitar locked eyes with the professor and tried to give some of that warmth back to him. "You're not gonna lose her," he murmured with certainty. "It'll work."

Stein gave him a small, genuine smile. It made him look younger.

Savitar didn't smile with him, but it was evident enough in his voice. "Caitlin's good at fixing things."


	35. Chapter 35: Teambuilding

**(Author's Note: I love you people. I love your reviews. And I am still just a few days from having made you wait a month for an update...AGAIN. This past month or so, and especially this past week, has been kind of a rollercoaster for me, so I'm really sorry! Obviously I haven't made this fic my top priority recently, but it's so close to being done, I'll change that. I hope you like this chapter, Jell-O Squares! Can't wait to hear from you. ~Doverstar)**

* * *

Eddie Thawne didn't know much about machines.

He knew how to operate his own phone. He knew how to work the weapons he was equipped with on the job. And he knew what Joe had insisted he learn about the computers S.T.A.R Labs had installed in the police station. But that was before S.T.A.R Labs' accident—and long before Mick Rory had turned the force's home base into a pile of ash.

Now the only machinery Eddie really had any relationship with was that same phone, give or take some kind of emergency when Caitlin couldn't lead her speedy friend through a mission. Which had only happened twice now—two and a _half_ if you counted the time when Caitlin had hurried back from a meeting with Stein to take over from Eddie behind the screens.

So he knew he wouldn't be a dollop of help to Wally, who was apparently hard at work in S.T.A.R. Labs' dusty ribcage, building something that almost certainly went way over Thawne's head.

Nearly every day now, Eddie made a point to save half his lunch while on break and take it to his friend. Recently, according to Wally, whatever project kept him tethered here had had some kind of hiccup. Whatever had happened in the aftermath, it had West practically _living_ in the Labs. And upon further inspection, he wasn't exactly living comfortably.

"You're sure he and I aren't—I don't know—" Eddie had sighed while visiting the Cortex one evening, "getting in your way here?"

Caitlin, bent over some heavy-looking paperwork Stein had emailed her, had barely looked up. "Of course not. Technically an off-the-grid facility is open to no one." She paused, clicking for a bit, eyebrows knit. "Which means it's open to anyone." At last, she smiled at him. "You're not in the way. But—I am a little worried about Wally. Between you and me," she added, turning back to the screen, "he's been so busy he seems to forget there are things like food. And sleep. And that this _isn't_ his day job."

But what _this_ was, Eddie couldn't have told you. Wally wouldn't explain his project.

"This wouldn't happen to be something that's gonna help us clear Joe's name?" This had been Eddie's first inquiry.

"I wish," Wally had replied, not looking at him. He just kept saying, "It's kind of a favor to them." When the kid wanted to, he could lock _any_ information up tight, and no number of bribes or threats would pull it out of him.

Besides, Caitlin and Savitar had already done quite a bit for Wally, and if he wanted to devote so much time to giving back, who was Eddie to stand in his way? The sandy-headed detective felt the boy deserved a bit of respect; he kept himself from digging too much. A favor for Caitlin, Thawne reasoned, couldn't be anything dangerous. She and her speedster were working to keep the city safer. It was becoming harder and harder _not_ to trust them.

Today, Wally was getting what was left of his burrito from _Tito's_ downtown.

"Sorry; I know you don't like onions," Eddie grunted, pulling up a nearby metal stool to watch his friend work in the engineering wing. "It's just how they come." He passed Wally the paper bag, eyes flickering over the huge, humming box Wally crouched beside. Trying to discern what it actually was, what it could do. But he was no mechanic.

"Nah, it's cool." Wally took the bag without looking backward, setting it down instead of opening it up. "Thanks."

"It's already cold," Eddie informed him, trying not to let any kind of Big Brother Syndrome slip in. Wally, Eddie had learned over the years, did not take kindly to being babied. "You should dig in."

"I will," West promised distractedly, taking off one of the rubber gloves he wore and sticking it between his teeth, freeing his bare hand to wield a 5/8 wrench. From around the glove he added, "Later."

Eddie exhaled through his nose, deciding to drop it for now. If Wally wanted to starve himself, no one could say Detective Thawne hadn't given him a second option.

Instead, he commented, "It's always boiling in here."

"Thing takes up a lotta energy."

"Get it up and running, or—" He craned his neck, trying to see over Wally's hair to any components of the box he might've missed, any more clues. "—whatever it is it's supposed to do?"

Wally let the glove tumble from between his teeth. "I'm gettin' there. I guess."

"You _guess_?"

The box rattled a little and Wally dropped the wrench, startled. After a moment, it calmed down again, and the boy shifted from a crouching position to a cross-legged one, sighing. "Whatever happened—it's not like it… _blew up_. I mean, it didn't work the first time, but nothing's different. Like, the whole thing follows the instructions _perfec_ —"

"Where are you getting instructions from?" It was out before Eddie could remember his vow of respectful silence.

Wally gave him a look.

Eddie raised his palms. "Sorry. Forget I asked."

He glanced at the _Tito's_ bag, hesitating for a moment while West turned back to the box. He watched the boy's hands as he worked and noted how stained and dry they looked. Eddie pursed his lips, impressed and worried all at once. He wondered if this was how parents sometimes felt.

Whatever he did, Wally always went at everything full throttle. He always gave his best. He'd seemed sort of lazy and laid-back when they first met—the first time Eddie had ever taken up Joe's offer on family dinner night. The usual formal questions, all about college and life's goals, had glanced off of Wally. He seemed like a good kid—polite, friendly, compassionate—but without much ambition.

That changed when Iris, Wally's somewhat stiff cop of a big sister, died in the S.T.A.R. Labs explosion. Since then, Wally had thrown himself at any and all tasks, and Eddie could never tell if it was because he wanted to keep himself busy, or if he wanted to make Iris proud of him. Thawne had never been much of a fan of Iris West—she'd always seemed too uptight for his liking—but he knew she'd always thought the world of her little brother. She'd always encouraged him, prophesying with absolute confidence that he would do something great one day. Eddie had never thought Wally took much stock in any of it until she'd passed. Now he could see Wally felt he'd wasted the time he'd had to prove to her that she wasn't wrong about him.

He was pushing the same determination into this. Whatever this was. Whatever Caitlin had asked him to do. More than once, Eddie had thought about simply asking Doctor Snow what Wally was building—but the fact that Wally wouldn't tell him himself said that the secret wasn't just his to keep. To the Wests, Thawne had become part of the family; Wally usually never had any trouble telling Eddie anything. This couldn't be _his_ tell. If it were, wouldn't Eddie know all about it by now? Joe's imprisonment, Iris' death—the two young men had been glued together by the most recent blows life had dealt them. If they couldn't confide in one another, there wasn't really anyone else on the same level to take up the mantel. They really were like family by now.

"This thing must be pretty important if you're giving up on food just to make it go," Eddie surmised at last, resting his palms on his knees.

"Caitlin needs it," Wally replied simply, sounding just a bit amused. "And I'm not giving up on food, Eddie. I'm just busy."

"Yeah, for three weeks straight," agreed Eddie. "I'm surprised Allen hasn't fired you yet."

"Stop playing, man, you know I had to fill out _so_ much paperwork for that job."

"If you were a cop, they'd—"

"Don't joke; no way I'd be a cop."

"Seriously, though." When Wally turned to roll his eyes at him, Eddie offered a smile. "Even if… _this_ …was all you were doing with yourself—I'm proud of you, pal."

Wally paused, blinking in surprise.

"Whatever it is," Eddie went on, gesturing helplessly to the humming box, "I think it's great you're helping them. Caitlin's doing a lot for you." He pictured Joe, still locked in Iron Heights, with this scrap of hope twirling and shining in a speedster and a bioengineer none of them really knew. Pictured the villains he'd seen locked up in the Pipeline on the security feed in the Cortex. "And me. And who else do we know that's going above and beyond like this to help the city? Right under everyone's noses?" As Wally nodded, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Y'know, from what you told me about them—they're not what I expected."

Wally wiped his hands on his jeans. Whether he was trying to free them of sweat due to the room's immense heat or just the usual oil and grime, Eddie wasn't sure, but it was clear that it wasn't helping.

"I feel that," he offered. "When we met—like, after the whole EXPO crap—I thought Caitlin was just this cute doctor girl nursin' me back to health." He grinned. "Turns out she's a total genius. She's got that Stein guy on speed dial, _and_ she's working with Savitar. Plus she's fr—" He broke off suddenly, as if he'd been reading down a list of _Cool Caitlin Things_ and had come to a section for his eyes only. But the detective didn't notice.

"Savitar," Eddie muttered, shaking his head. "He's _definitely_ not what I expected."

"Yeah," Wally chortled, taking up the wrench again. "You know he's taller in person than he is on the news? Like—6'2, tops."

"That's not it." Thawne picked up a little metal cylinder on one of the nearby worktables; one of the little bits and pieces scattered around the abandoned room. He turned it over in his hands, thinking aloud. "When he stopped me at the bank…I don't know."

Wally's eyebrows dipped as he glanced over his shoulder. All humor gone at Eddie's tone. "What?" he prompted.

"I don't know," repeated the detective. Eddie licked his lips. "He was angry. Not like you'd think some superhero running around the city would be. And not just then. Every time I saw him—every time I've _seen_ him—he's just…dark. You know? He's a _hero_ ," he added hurriedly, when Wally opened his mouth to object, "don't get me wrong. For sure. But…something about him…"

The box rattled again and Wally kicked it, pointing firmly at it as though telling a puppy that wouldn't sit still, _I got my eye on you._

It gave Eddie the second of silence he needed to form the right words. "There are guys I work with. Guys on the force. They've been through some pretty rocky stuff. Especially the older ones; they've seen all _kinds_ of evil out there. Guys who have done things they can't take back. Guys who've lost something, or lost too much, or—just—sorta _keep_ losing. Like Joe."

At this, Wally's head finally came all the way up. He turned around, wiping his hands again on his jeans. Brown eyes rounder but still not all the way open. Eddie knew this look. He had the kid's complete attention.

Eddie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, encouraged, as always, by Wally's listening ear. "Ever since Iris died—I mean, you saw him."

Wally rubbed at the chest of his deep orange T-shirt, nodding absently. Staring at the floor now. "Like a whole different dude."

Eddie nodded back. "It was like there was this…hole. Right? Like there was this hole inside and he was—just—too afraid to fill it up." He straightened, almost smiling. "I don't know, probably sounds cheesy."

But his companion didn't seem to think so.

"He was ticked," Wally recalled quietly. "All the time. He was still Dad," he quickly amended, "but…" He met Eddie's eyes, using his word for it. "Dark."

Eddie's eyebrows rose in consent, remembering it. After Iris had gone, no amount of family dinners, no number of baddies caught and jailed, could bring the same light around in the old detective again.

"Savitar's like that," Wally agreed.

"He's lost a lot," came a soft voice from the doorway.

Both boys jumped. Eddie felt his cheeks tingle with embarrassment, being caught gossiping by Caitlin herself. How long had she been standing there? He was scum, chattering away about the two of them, after all they'd promised to do for Joe, after everything they'd done for Central City. Like a hairdresser or a soccer mom, painting other people's moods like it was a sleepover in the sixth grade. Like they had any idea what someone else was going through.

Caitlin didn't appear to see it that way. As she walked into the room, carrying a drink tray with two cups from Jitters for the pair of them, if anything, she looked _pleased_. Almost glad.

"You may have noticed he's not the most trusting person," Caitlin added dryly.

Wally winced in Eddie's direction and quickly turned back to the machine, eager to escape the awkwardness of being found slandering. But Eddie glanced at Caitlin, waiting for more.

"And I know he isn't always the most…polite, either." She made a face, scrunching up her nose and glancing skyward, as if trying to decide how to continue.

Eddie shook his head. "Caitlin, we weren't—"

"I know," Caitlin interrupted. She gave him an awkward smile. "It's okay. I was just thinking—you're right. About Savitar being…about him having lost so much. About having a hole you're afraid to fill." She handed them their drinks. "It can take you to a _dark_ place." She made quotation marks with her fingers, tilting her head with a small smile as she used their terms. "I've had my fair share of losses. I know how that feels."

Wally lightly tapped the end of the wrench against his knee, as if it were a very heavy pencil, and let an elbow rest on the box. "But with my dad," he began falteringly, like he was debating on whether or not to enter back into the conversation, "it never got real bad. Like—he never did anything stupid, you know? Cuz me, my mom, everybody—we didn't let him."

Eddie, like a child caught with mom's precious jewelry, set the cylinder down when he noticed Caitlin's eyes rest on it curiously. "Sometimes I think the only thing keeping him from getting worse was—"

"The people who loved him?" Caitlin finished. She was smiling, like she'd heard something familiar, like someone had referenced a favorite movie or book and she'd overheard.

Eddie nodded. "I don't know what he would've done with himself if he didn't have Francine. Or Wally," he added, nodding to him.

Wally grunted. "Uh, you were a big part of that too, man."

The detective tried and failed to hide how much the words meant to him. A slow grin nearly pulled his face muscles out of shape. Not for the first time, he wondered where he'd be if the Wests hadn't basically adopted him as one of their own when he moved to town.

Caitlin sat down gingerly on the top of one of the worktables. She was wearing her lab coat, and the way she smoothed her hands over its hem was too fast, almost nervous. "I guess we've all lost something," she surmised. "Looks like the only antidote is the people who care."

Eddie Thawne wasn't much of a philosopher. But you couldn't be a detective if you weren't some kind of deep thinker. He'd thought a _lot_ about his partner, about what Joe must have been feeling these last few years. About how his life had gone topsy-turvy ever since the explosion at these very Labs. He'd thought about the kind of man his partner was—to serve time in jail for a crime he didn't commit without complaint. To accept help from his family and friends after losing his only daughter, instead of simply giving up on life completely. Joe hadn't deserved the blow life had dealt him, but it would have been even worse if he'd gone through it all alone.

Savitar, Eddie concluded, was lucky to have someone like Caitlin. He was lucky not to be alone, the same way Eddie was lucky to have Wally, and Wally was lucky to have his mother. Really, they were _all_ benefitting from knowing Caitlin Snow. The list of people in his life displaying impossible selflessness was growing longer by the day.

Caitlin blinked hard and gave them both puckered eyebrows. "And—I'm sorry getting Joe out hasn't exactly been our top priority." She cleared her throat. "There's something _bigger_ going on in the city. At least, that's what Savitar and I have been thinking." The glance she tossed at Wally was practically half a second long. Too fast. "And there have been…technical difficulties around here."

Wally didn't look back. Eddie watched Caitlin purse her lips and shift just slightly toward the boy, as though she wanted to hop down and touch him, put a hand on his back or something. Detective Thawne had memorized body language years ago. Something had happened with this project of theirs, and whatever it was, it must have left Doctor Snow feeling a little separated from her engineer-for-hire.

Several questions wanted to come hammering out of him. He looked at that dark silver cube Wally was kneeling beside and felt frustration in the setting of his jaw and the bouncing of a leg. If it wasn't being built to help Joe, but it was a favor to Caitlin, surely it was some kind of world-saving invention? What could Caitlin possibly need with a glorified washing machine? All those levers, all that humming and shaking, the over-the-top orange extension cord running from its side to the round metal frame mounted a few feet away…Eddie couldn't begin to guess what kind of contraption his friend was so invested in. The only thing he could do was stare at it and offer burritos and be respectfully uninterested. A cop shouldn't feel this useless. A detective shouldn't feel this out of the loop.

"To be honest, I'm glad you guys're helping at all," Eddie finally replied, realizing that if he didn't combat her apology soon, things could seem awkward. "It's been just Wally and I on this case since it started; having a few extra hands is practically a dream come true."

Caitlin still looked guilty, though, but before Eddie could take another stab at reassuring her, her hand flew to the Bluetooth device attached to her ear, face scrunching up in surprise. "Savitar?" she said aloud.

Eddie knew he wouldn't be able to hear what the moody hero was saying, but he strained all the same. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Wally setting his tools down and tilting his head in Caitlin's direction.

"If it's not Shawna Baez, who is it?" After a moment, with a funny expression, Caitlin stood as though someone had flipped a switch. "Where are you?"

A pause.

"Yes, I know," Caitlin huffed, rolling her eyes. "But believe it or not, I don't spend _all_ my time in the Cortex." Another pause. "I'll head there now."

When she tapped the device again, apparently turning it off, Eddie stood too. "What's up?"

"Savitar says he's got a metahuman causing trouble on the East Side." Caitlin made her way to the door, readjusting the Bluetooth device as she went. " _Not_ Mick Rory, for a change," she added, in a tired sort of tone. "Apparently, she has a few explosives and she's 'making a mess'." She held up a hand. "That's Savitar talking. It's usually more serious than he makes it sound."

" _Meta_ human?" Wally's voice cracked.

Caitlin paused, and confusion flickered across her features, making her nose wrinkle. Then it cleared; she said quickly, "People who were affected by this—by S.T.A.R. Labs' accident. Like Rory, or—"

"Savitar," offered Wally, resting an elbow on the metal box's top.

"Right." She opened the door. "This shouldn't take too long."

Eddie grabbed his coat and hurried after her. "I can be your backup," he offered.

Caitlin glanced at Wally, but the boy had turned his back to the two of them, focused again on his secret invention.

"That would be great."

She graced Eddie with a smile, but he was too familiar with the size and strain of fake ones to see much actual joy in it. If anything, just for that second, she looked more stressed than ever. Eddie had been getting the distinct feeling she was one of those _uptight_ girls since they'd met—the kind that planned everything out, the kind that tried holding too much at once. The kind Iris had been, before the accident here had taken her away. He remembered her taking _way_ too many antidepressants on the job. She'd had a whole drawer, hidden from Joe, devoted to them in the CCPD while she'd been alive. He wondered, looking at the exhausted lines around Caitlin's eyes, if she'd tried anything like that for herself.

And if she wasn't, the least he could do was to ease some of the weight she kept strapping to her shoulders. All for the sake of every broken stranger who had somehow found his way to the formerly-abandoned S.T.A.R. Labs.

 _This_ broken stranger was determined to make himself useful.

* * *

The villain in our tale did not drink coffee often.

He rarely went to the surface anymore—he had the help for that. If he needed caffeine, there were ways of getting it that didn't involve a tedious stroll up to the land of the ordinary. But today was special. Today, he'd gotten himself a nice cappuccino and a shady alley to stand in and was even wearing a new jacket. Today, he'd find out precisely what dear Mister _God of Speed_ was truly made of. From a distance, of course, while the Savitar took on the first female meta to join their nasty, highly entertaining underground cause.

After the happy accident at S.T.A.R. Labs, Linda Park had come to him with perhaps a sand grain of control over her new abilities. She would be standing before him and, after blinking, or being distracted by sound in the background and glancing in that direction, suddenly she would transport herself to another spot in the room. As long as she could see it, she could be there in a heartbeat. No leg muscles necessary. And that was such a neat little party trick, how _could_ he refuse when she'd asked for a piece of the pie? For a bit of training? Perhaps his training _did_ take longer than necessary—giving her a little red slice with his favorite knife, or even a not-so-little one, whenever she turned up in the wrong place probably tended to plant a few doubts in her mind before teleporting—but in the end, she'd become quite an asset. Knife wounds made one's focus quite _sharp_ , as it turned out. And Rory liked to grumble he hadn't a sense of humor!

It was easy, giving her assignments. He hardly had to worry whether or not Linda was up to the task, whether she could do what he commanded. When you were essentially faster than any cop _or_ their squad cars—when you could go from sidewalk to the roof of a skyscraper in the time it took to inhale—nothing was really much of a challenge, was it? And seeing Lisa Snart grind her teeth in envy each time he sent Park out to cause some chaos instead of her, well, that was just sprinkles on the cupcake.

With his kingly sewer life, pawns ready at the flap of a hand and no one to oppose him, he didn't think he could have much more fun until the boy in black had shown up. _Savitar_ —at last, here was someone Linda could really go toe-to-toe with. Armed with several little bombs and the will to turn the East Side of Central City into a kicked anthill, Park had been appearing and reappearing up and down the streets, setting off explosive after explosive wherever took her fancy. Sometimes she deliberately materialized in the path of fleeing pedestrians, just to see them stagger and shriek in their panic to get to safety. It was better than reruns of _The_ _Crocodile Hunter_ , watching from his alley.

And then the speedster had joined the party. Right on schedule. Well, actually, perhaps a few minutes early. It was like opening two presents on Christmas Eve instead of one. A welcome surprise, those extra minutes. More study time before the big test. He let his empty cappuccino cup slip from his hand—naughty litterbug that he was, for shame—and narrowed his eyes, following every movement the running man made. As soon as he'd discovered Savitar enjoyed fighting in slow mo, rather than at high speed—unless, of course, there were innocent lives on the line, according to Rory—he knew it would be impossibly easy to complete this portion of his plan. Everything was easy. That lot at the roasted shell of S.T.A.R. Labs was clearly rough about the edges when it came to hero's work. Really, he was beginning to get bored.

When Savitar _did_ catch up with Linda as she blipped here and there, he relied more on his hands than anything else in the fight. He did tend to use his speed when she threw her own punches, and of course he dodged every explosive sent his way, but other than that he relished the rush it gave him to land a blow at an average pace. He kicked her feet out from under her more than once, but all Linda needed to do was to focus on any spot nearby, and she wouldn't be down for more than that single second.

Infuriating. To Savitar, anyway. For _him_ , this was just turning out to be a splendid afternoon.

The speedster didn't waste time on the bombs themselves, either. Rather than racing to catch or somehow douse/deactivate each one as she left them, Savitar continued to focus on the hands tossing the weapons instead.

He moved with them, always perfectly hidden, following the two metas down each block. Linda had been told, of course, where she was allowed to go—she had her limit, the border he'd set up for her. Like children playing a game of Capture the Flag, she wasn't permitted to cross a certain point. There was no need for him to go dashing about the entire city following the two of them. Park could go backward and forward along this section of the city, but if she got too far away, his study time would be cut short. _And we can't have that_.

He analyzed the former God of Speed's every move. Which leg he favored, which attacks he tended to repeat most, how many times he let himself pause for breath, everything. _Know thine enemy_. He hadn't been bested in a fight since he was fourteen years old. What passed for a father had come very close to breaking both his legs as a kind of punishment once. Being scrawny and a bit twisted up inside made him an easy target. He knew then that if he could master and redefine the art of observation, he could win any fight before it began. Even one against someone with superhuman abilities.

Linda was getting tired. He could see it. He could also see Savitar's hand dart several times to where his ear ought to have been beneath that hooded mask.

Well, he wasn't the only one with a comms system.

He didn't need to tap his. It was already online. "Linda, darling, I've finished work early and I'm afraid playtime is over for today."

Ages ago, when she'd first joined him, she would have flinched at the sudden voice in her ear as she fought. Probably due to a past trauma of some kind. But he'd worked it out of her, among other things that had been standing in the way of her full potential, and now she barely blinked, showing no sign to her opponent that she was getting a call.

In seconds her eyes shot from corner to parked car to his very alleyway, meeting his gaze and disappearing in a waft.

With a gasp, she was at his side. In a hoarse whisper, she said, "I think I broke a record this time."

"Most jumps in one hour?" He weaved around a few trash bins, heading for the nearest manhole. He knew them all. "Running for Miss Meta, I see. Well done."

When they reached the main bunker in his darkened kingdom under the city, Mick Rory was waiting for them. He sat on an overturned crate with one leg jittering, watching the little television in the corner. There was practically steam pouring from both ears; he looked so agitated. Perhaps there would be another Put Rory In His Place sparring session. They'd only ever had one, and the lean leader of the operation had been simply itching to have another go at the pyro. Rory was so slow, and so thick, if he needed a bit of a stretch in his muscles, a brawl with Mick was just the thing.

"Nimbus is still in there," Rory announced, turning. "And Snart."

"Lovely to see you've been exercising your eyes, mate." He shed his jacket, hanging it on a lower beam, one of many that supported various platforms around the cavern. He didn't need to look around to know Linda was slinking off for a bit of a rest. Pity. He fancied a few new clothes—his were all starting to smell like the pipes down here—and she _was_ the quickest of them all at breaking and entering. But if you used a toy too often, it would break, and his OCD insisted on throwing all useless things away.

"You know the Freak can't fight us all at once," Rory went on. Would he always be this dense? Would he constantly need to be reprimanded? It was getting tedious. Cutting out his tongue would be more effective. Oblivious to his own disrespect, the hothead continued. "I'd like to see him try to stop one of Snart's robberies while I melt the hide off a skyscraper on the other side of town. _And_ while Nimbus is smoking out another fancy clubhouse. Then we'd have him."

"Ooh, brilliant, good, yes. How long did it take you to come up with this little plot?" He rubbed the bridge of his impressive nose. "The past month?" He began scaling one of the beams, lazily twisting in and out of footholds and glancing down at Rory, who watched him with the impatience of a four-year-old. "Careful you don't question the methods in my madness, eh?"

Rory clearly wasn't listening. Waiting for his turn to speak. Maybe that tongue really _should_ come on out. "We need more muscle around—"

"I've no doubt your left pinky toe has enough muscle in it for the pair of them. Whatever you may lack, Sparky, take comfort that it isn't brawn. Nimbus and Snart remain in that facility until _I_ say otherwise." He swung down and landed directly in front of Mick. He was two inches taller, but had he spread his arms, Rory's shadow could have taken up half their length. "You're not to infiltrate their 'Pipeline'. You're not to confront the speedster. They are—all of them— _precisely_ where I want them to be."

Rory licked his lips, shifting his left wrist out of view, behind his back, nearly unconsciously. But he still had enough of his precious fire in those eyes to rumble out, "So. How long are Park and me gonna have to pull their weight?"

His master gave him a smile that could have been made of Elmer's glue, it was so thin. "Not much longer now."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: This one is probably really short, right? I'm so sorry. And no Savitar/Caitlin interaction? No _Savitar_? If you actually read this chapter, bless you. I have a feeling you'll like the next one, though. Stick with me, Jell-O Squares! I recognize you all in each review and would hate to lose you. My work schedule has let up a bit so I may be able to update sooner this time. In fact, I'll get started on Chapter 36 right now! Love you all. ~Doverstar)**


	36. Chapter 36: In Sickness And In Health

**(Author's Note: I didn't make you wait two weeks this time! Progress? Hopefully? Well, we won't be getting new episodes of The Flash until April 10th, so maybe I can make these chapters last until then. Enjoy, Jell-O Squares! Tell me all your thoughts. I get so giddy reading about them. Thanks for sticking with me! ~Doverstar)**

* * *

"You could still work for the CCPD."

"What CCPD?"

"Just because they don't have a standing headquarters right now doesn't mean the city doesn't have officers, Savitar."

"No."

"Or become an engineer somewhere nearby. Wally probably knows a few places."

"No."

"You _did_ build an entire suit of armor. It's something to think about."

"How about a pizza delivery boy?"

Caitlin looked up at Savitar from behind her laptop, one eyebrow arched in the perfect impression of her high school principal. But her principal had always been able to keep a tight, thin mouth. Caitlin was unable to suppress the kind of reluctant smile that made you look like you were rolling a marble around in there.

"Can't you just pretend to care about this?" she huffed. Then she held up a stern finger, pointing it at him. "You can't be unemployed on this Earth forever. Superhero or not, you need a steady income like everyone else."

CCJitters was having a slow day. Only two baristas stood behind the long black counter, one of them dawdling on her phone while the other wiped down the same spot for a full fifteen minutes, staring into space. Though it was frigid outside, the early December sunlight pouring into the café didn't look any less golden, making it seem like a lazy summer afternoon. Apart from Caitlin and Savitar, who were sitting across from one another at a high table in the corner, there were probably three lounging patrons in all.

Caitlin preferred the bustle of an early morning here rather than the stagnant 3 PM they inhabited now. When it was loud and crowded in Jitters, the way it often seemed during the times she'd met Professor Stein here, it was somehow easier to focus. It became like the air conditioning in your house or the ticking of a clock in a classroom—background noise to occupy the back of your mind while you planted yourself deep into your work. But now that it was practically dead in the café, Caitlin had to keep thinking aloud, with the speedster to bounce off of. Otherwise she'd stray from her task.

Not that Savitar was much help. In fact, he seemed bound and determined to pull her mind as far away from finding him a job as he possibly could. Even when he was quiet, he was able to snag her attention. When he wasn't dropping snarky replies to her suggestions, he would sit there, dark hair soft in the dying sunlight, rearranging the little dish of butter packets sitting between them. Or vibrating the last of his coffee at a nearly untraceable pace to warm it up. She could feel, by the slightest of shaking on the tabletop against the underside of her arms, that he was shifting his foot up and down, sometimes at high speed, sometimes at an average one. And, most frustrating of all, more than once Caitlin could feel him watching her.

It wasn't like he'd brought a book to read or a laptop of his own. He didn't even own a smartphone. It was no wonder he preferred racing around the city in his spare time; there wasn't much for him to do. She almost wished he _did_ carry a phone. He could be staring down at it aimlessly like any other millennial instead of at her.

She glanced up at him a few times, trying to hide her irritation. On Earth-1, if Barry Allen was watching someone, his whole posture spoke of it. It was almost as if he were on a television show and a scene had just ended, dramatically zeroing in on his reaction.

Savitar's expression was much the same, apart from a slightly deeper hint in his eyes. Caitlin had to remind herself that this was the man who had turned the heads of generations past into believing he was a god. The man who'd outsmarted Team Flash for months before H.R. had finally defeated him. Of course, he'd have what Barry had—but it was combined, unfortunately, with the calculations of a former Big Bad. It was simultaneously as though he were dissecting her and simply enjoying her company.

Nobody could work when someone else was watching them. For one thing, it felt prickly. For another, it made her seem rude—her friend was sitting in a café with her and she was glued to her laptop. There was such a thing as companionable silence, but that usually happened when both parties had something to take care of, and chose to do so in the same area.

Caitlin definitely had something to take care of. Technically, because it was all about his future, so did Savitar. Yet for some reason, _she_ was the only one taking care of it.

After at least two more minutes, she cracked.

"Savitar," she said slowly, "are you okay?"

"Sure." Sleepy Barry eyes blinked one time too many. He laced his fingers together around his coffee cup. "Why?"

"Because you keep looking at me." Caitlin took out her phone, checking her Messages app. _Still nothing._ Keeping her eyes on the screen, she added, "And I can't concentrate."

"There's not a lot going on in here, Caitlin."

Caitlin swiped from one contact to the next, using her other hand to stir her tea. "Well, it's very distracting."

The speedster didn't respond to that directly, folding his arms across the table, as though preparing for a little nap—like a drained college student—but kept his head erect. "In the Speed Force," he suddenly began, tone casual, "time is non-linear."

Caitlin glanced away from the screen at last, shoulders straightening with interest.

Savitar licked his lips, encouraged by this, and impulsively reached for one of the napkins in the dispenser. Almost as if he hadn't intended to go on, but then she'd looked up.

"You're not living in it day by day." He took the pen she kept beside her computer, clicking it open and starting a scribble at a speed that should've caused the napkin to rip, but it was smooth as ever when he finished, speaking as he drew. "You're just standing there." His eyes darted up at her, briefly. "Or running there. Time is moving around you—every hour, every minute—it's an infinite loop. Your past, your present. Possible futures—it's all around you. Illusions. Things that won't happen, based on what _did_ happen."

Doctor Snow leaned forward, bending her head low across the table to examine his drawing. He turned it around so that she could see it for what it was, instead of upside-down.

Savitar had drawn a circle, with arrows flicking around and around, lapsing over one another, and a single dot in the center. After staring at it for a while, the arrows seemed to blur together, making it look as if someone had frayed a tiny strand of black licorice and left it all in a shredded pile. Taking up the entirety of the circle, closer and closer to the dot.

"It's a _Force_ —it's energy, and a consciousness, connected to you. _Your_ thoughts. _Your_ memories. Or…" he shrugged. "Whatever speedster's trapped inside."

He paused, judging her reaction as she stared at the napkin.

"When I was in there—after Barry imprisoned me…" Savitar gestured with the pen at his drawing. "At first it was just illusions. I'd wake up somewhere familiar, with someone from my past. Haunting me. Rejecting me. But when you spend an eternity in a place like that—illusions only do the job for so long. So the Speed Force threw time at me. I ran through the past, present, and future. Simultaneously. It was like being trapped in the center of a cyclone. With all the things Barry Allen ever went through rushing past. Everything was going on _so_ quickly around me." He shut his eyes for just a second, as if reliving it, repeating, "In an endless loop."

She narrowed her eyes at the drawing, realizing what the arrows and the dot represented. Savitar…and an eternity of everything whirling by.

Savitar drew a final circle around his illustration. "Having eyes that can see at light speed…you learn to watch it all without moving. I could stand, in the middle of it, and still experience every second of my own personal Hell."

Caitlin blinked hard to free her vision. She tried imagining such a thing—she tried imagining being able to watch her own life, at its worst points—every injury, every insult, every nightmare, every failure, every embarrassment, every loss. Going by in a second, starting and finishing and starting up again, seconds spiraling into minutes, into hours, into days, weeks, months, years, eons. An eternity of her own life, of the tragedies and the mistakes and their consequences. And the occasional illusion added to the heap, like reopening a wound with the extra bite of winter air. Her mind wouldn't make it real. She couldn't picture what he described, but she could feel its results throbbing off of him, even as he sat in a warm, quiet café with a friend across from him.

And for killing Iris—in the previous timeline, of course—for murdering innocents throughout the ages, creating a lie about being the first speedster…hadn't he deserved it? For ripping Team Flash of 2024 apart, for causing so much pain? Had the future, now non-existent Barry Allen known exactly what he was sentencing his time remnant to when he'd tossed him into the Speed Force's prison? If he had, Caitlin couldn't help feeling certain he wouldn't have done it. He'd have found another punishment.

But though she wasn't able to imagine Savitar's agony, she could easily imagine Barry's reaction to losing Iris. After everything they'd done to stop it. If Iris really _had_ been taken from him…Caitlin wasn't sure he _wouldn't_ have done it, knowing what would happen to Savitar or not.

As she glanced at the former God of Speed, she realized he'd gone back to watching her with that baffling mix of nonchalance and intensity.

Finally, he came to the point, arms folded behind his head now. "I guess after that, looking at anything out here in _Normal Land_ is—"

"Peaceful," Caitlin supplied, biting her lip in sympathy for him. "If you can watch your whole timeline go by for that long, it must be like a Hawaiian vacation to see things at average speed. Never mind what something like that could do to your brain's Subcortex."

He spread his palms, using the right one to click the pen shut as he stretched. "It's not like I went crazy or anything."

Caitlin grunted, raising her eyebrows at his joke. "Right."

Savitar returned to his coffee. "Well. Lucky for me, the view here is much better."

She was supposed to be some kind of genius, but it took her longer than it should have to realize he was complimenting her. A brief moment of gaping at him ensued. "Oh." Caitlin cleared her throat, unable to force back a little smile. To make up for it, she wrestled her tone into one of professionalism. "Still. Staring is creepy. And…we have work to do."

She ducked back toward the computer screen, telling herself it was about focusing. _Not_ hiding her face like a blushing teenager might. It had been an awfully long time since anyone had so bluntly praised her looks. But she could still feel him watching. Grappling for something more to do with her hands, she instinctively reached for her phone. The screen was blank. Zero notifications. Caitlin felt her chest tighten a bit. _Concentrate on something else._

"As long as you're sure something isn't bothering you," she added to the speedster aloud, keeping her gaze on her phone.

He craned his neck a little, eyebrows lowering, to see what she was staring at. "Something bothering _you_?"

"What?"

"That's about the thirtieth time you've checked your phone since we left S.T.A.R. Labs." Savitar lifted the cup to his lips, eyes widening innocently. "Expecting a call?"

"A text, actually," Caitlin admitted. "I'm sorry. It's just—I keep hoping…I mean—Cisco was able to send us a fax, send us blueprints for Wally's machine, despite the odd interference with our two dimensions. If he could do that…he's got to be able to figure out how to send a _text_ sometime soon, right?"

Savitar hadn't been smiling a moment ago, but there'd been a kind of light on his face that substituted for one. Now it flickered, dying out altogether. She noticed the table suddenly grew much stiller, as though he'd stopped bouncing his leg underneath its top.

"You're still worried about getting home."

"After how that first test run turned out," Caitlin replied tartly, "I think I could stand to be even _more_ worried." She closed the Messages app, sighing. "I know Wally is doing his best, but…if I can't get back…"

She didn't want to finish the thought. Somehow, she got the feeling that saying it aloud would make it seem too likely. Last night, lying in that big metal cot in her room at S.T.A.R. Labs, she'd been struck with a sudden homesickness for her own apartment. Her own bed, her own coffee table and stupid lamps and shelves full of biology books. Should she have been looking for a permanent residence here, on Earth-66, instead of jobs for the speedster who didn't give a care sitting across from her? Just in case she really was stuck here? Should she be filling out her own applications? The weight of her predicament, the stress, pressed down on her mind every day since the breach machine failed, making her head pound.

On said speedster's face now was a sheet of impatience. Savitar sort of thumbed the tip of his nose, sniffing, an action Barry often carried out after long silences, after he'd had a minute to think. Caitlin had come to realize that it was his way of moving on a decision he'd just made to himself. Savitar's was faster, almost ritual.

"Come on." He stood up.

Caitlin frowned. "Where are we going?"

Savitar gave her a look that said he was sick and tired of questions.

Doctor Snow eyed him, still holding her phone, but the other hand almost subconsciously stretched to grasp his. "Even if we head back, you and I are still going to have to fin—"

In the second she slid her hand into his, Savitar reached over and shut her laptop.

 _FWOOSH!_

Then they were shooting out of the café, out onto the sidewalk, out into the city. Caitlin saw a skyscraper one second, then grass, then a flash of yellowish lightning. It was nothing like the time he'd run her back to the Labs after going out for lunch. She didn't have even half a heartbeat to register more than a blur of an object as they moved.

And they were in the park, Lisa Snart's semi incident long past, where the new fountain had just been installed.

When she tugged her hand free after they finally stopped, Caitlin glanced around, shoving hair from her face. Her eyebrows dipped toward one another in confusion, and a bit of frustration at his impulsiveness.

She opened her mouth (a little reluctantly as the cool air woke her up a bit) to demand answers, whether he was sick of questions or not. But the sight of a small smile on his face told her not to. It wasn't worth the loss.

Fingers teasingly snapped a few inches from her face.

"Hey." Instead, the former God of Speed reprimanded _her_. "I didn't say let go."

Did he seem smug?

He stole her hand again and Caitlin gasped. Around them, a swath of that same sickly yellow lightning darted and flinched, a kind of hula-hoop of color and energy. And outside that ring, life had completely stopped.

Two children with Nutella snack packs, pausing from a game in the grass, sat with their crackers halfway to their mouths. Stuck in that position. Behind them, a black lab leapt for a bright red Frisbee, both canine and toy suspended in midair. There were several of autumn's straggling leaves trying to tumble to the ground, but Caitlin and Savitar were caught in the moment they'd broken free of their boughs. Even the air seemed frozen.

Caitlin's mind did jumping jacks as she worked to understand. She'd never seen this before. Had Barry? Had every speedster? And how was he _sharing_ this ability with her?

Savitar was blinking placidly at her. He didn't seem at all concerned with the marvel around them; maybe he was used to it.

"What—what are—" Caitlin stammered, beginning to feel a tiny ache in the back of her head.

"This," he explained, at last looking around with her, "is Flashtime. You're moving with me at super speed."

Caitlin, mouth still hanging open, ripped her gaze away from the outside world and back to him. "How?"

Savitar's smile curled a little downward at the edges, making a shrug of an expression. "Best I can tell…I'm expanding the Speed Force. Same thing that protected you from getting whiplash on the way here, the thing that keeps people from getting a little banged up when the Flash takes them with, say…" He squinted upward. "Maybe from a burning building? Only—this kind of lets you stop. Take it all in."

A short huff, like a half laugh, escaped her. Awestruck, she noted the water nearby. It should have been spilling from the fountain, but it was captured, as though she were looking at a very high-definition photograph. "It's incredible."

Savitar didn't agree, though he probably didn't need to. He'd seen this all before. All he seemed to do was watch her.

Caitlin moved toward the fountain, eager to get a closer look.

"Don't—" The speedster kept a tight hold on her hand, squeezing her fingers. She doubled back a few steps, concerned, glancing at him. He explained, rolling his eyes a tad as if to apologize, "If I let go, you're back in normal time."

Caitlin hesitated nervously. The pain in her head was blossoming into a spot the size of her fist. She'd need another aspirin when they got back to S.T.A.R. Labs. And maybe a nap. She'd probably been working too hard, but without Cisco or Joe or even H.R. to tell her to get some rest, how could she make any time for a break?

She could do this, though. She could enjoy this, with Savitar's help, and not waste any time at all.

Caitlin approached the fountain again, the lightning bending to fit the stretch in space, and this time Savitar moved with her, gripping her hand with a little more force than what may have been necessary. As Caitlin got closer, she could spy little droplets the water had released on its way down, like tiny jewels hanging there. The ripples the liquid made in the bottom tier were so smooth, she wanted to reach down and run her hand along one, the way you run your hand along a rail as you take to a set of stairs.

Impressed, she turned back to Savitar with a smile somewhere between teasing and gratitude. There was a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Barry can't do this."

Savitar stepped a little closer, so that they were side by side, chortling. "Not yet."

A spark of delight fireworked through Caitlin at the thought of her Earth-1 companion gaining even _more_ to learn. More to help people with. New abilities, new scientific strides. "Exactly how far into the future does he—ah!"

Caitlin broke off, wincing, as an intense heat overwhelmed her. The ache in her head spread until it engulfed her skull, and she got the feeling no amount of aspirin would be calming it down. Her legs felt like gelatin, as if she'd been sitting down too long and all the blood in them was stirring awake as she stood. She could feel weakness and pain even in her teeth.

"Okay—" Savitar caught her as she stumbled. "It's time to let go."

Caitlin felt her heart rate slowing. _Of course._ Her body couldn't handle moving this quickly for this long. Savitar was connected to the Speed Force; he could move at any speed he liked and the toll it would take on his physical health would set in much later than it would for her. Caitlin was a metahuman, but not _that_ much of a metahuman. She was deteriorating. She should've been expecting these sorts of ramifications from the beginning. Was she losing her touch?

Stifling a cry as she lost feeling in her arms, she managed a nod.

With a kind of rush, like an audience just bursting into a standing ovation, the lightning around them disappeared. The world exploded back into movement and noise. The Frisbee smacked into the dog's mouth. A Nutella-coated cracker was finally bitten into. Leaf after leaf reached its destination. And the water in the fountain was running smoothly, as though Caitlin had just daydreamed the stagnant version.

Savitar had one hand on her shoulder now, holding her steady as she regained strength. "Don't move," he ordered, tone firm. "Give it a minute."

Caitlin sucked in breath after breath of real, influenced oxygen. Fresh air. She tried not to make a scene, tried to compose herself, but he was right—it was going to take a minute or so to come away from the Speed Force's effects. One or two people caught sight of them, with a flick of the eyes that showed they were concerned, but not so concerned that they would brave the awkwardness of introductions to come and check that everything was okay. That the strange lady and her black-clad companion weren't having some kind of attack.

After several more seconds and a few steps in any random direction to test her muscle work, Caitlin glanced at Savitar. "How did you…just turn it off like that?"

Savitar cocked his head, spreading his left palm. "Practice."

"But—" Caitlin lifted _her_ left hand, showing it to him. "You still haven't let go."

His hand remained tightly woven with hers.

"I don't understand," she went on, distractedly watching the lab rush the Frisbee back to its owner. Only a moment ago it had been trapped in the middle of a huge spring. "You can only share your speed when you touch someone, when you _link_ them to the Speed Force's energy. Shouldn't that connection still be there if you keep holding on?"

Savitar's face did not change. "You think I haven't figured out how to shut it down whether I'm touching someone or not?" He pulled their arms back down, out of view. "Barry might take a little longer to learn all this, but…" Savitar shook their hands a little, swinging his arm back and forth almost restlessly. "I've already been there."

Caitlin felt a grin pushing its way through. "That sounds a little close to bragging, don't you think?"

Savitar pulled his mouth down, nodding a bit. "Probably."

"Thank you," she said quickly. "For showing me. Even if my head still feels like it's under a sledgehammer." Caitlin watched the two Nutella kids scramble from their spots in the grass, going back to a game of tag and leaving their food on the ground. She smiled at Savitar. "I guess I needed to get away for a second."

Savitar, watching her smile grow, was quiet for a moment before responding. His eyes looked a little wider, a touch more awake than usual, and he seemed so much taller than she was whenever they stood this close. Julian had been a bit shorter than

eye-level for her, and of course Ronnie had had a couple of inches to lord over his fiancee. Barry was _seven_ inches taller, and Savitar was the time remnant of an older version of the Flash—which meant he was a whole foot higher than Caitlin, and instead of being intimidated, she found it endearing. Almost comforting.

"Caitlin," he said quietly, and she noticed he'd taken a barely-traceable breath inward before he spoke, "your Earth…" He stopped, and Caitlin felt her smile fall, concern for him creeping in. He seemed to be having a hard time thinking of what to say. Savitar had always been full of Barry's quick wit, ready with something sarcastic or dry to say. Something _was_ bothering him. "If it doesn't work…"

Caitlin's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

Savitar licked his lips. "If you're just here. If you have to stay, if…Barry can't get you out. If Wally's machine never—"

"Don't say that." Caitlin shook her head, trying to ignore a familiar sense of panic weaving its way back into her lungs. "It has to."

"No—no, listen." Savitar shut his eyes for a second, as if her interruption made it harder for him to communicate. He exhaled, frustrated. "It's different now. Okay? I want—"

In her pocket, Caitlin's cell phone burst into song. _Summer Lovin'_ , her preferred ringtone, tinnily rang through the clearing. Jumping, startled, Caitlin used her free hand to fish it out.

She looked beseechingly at her friend. "It's Professor Stein."

"Great." Savitar looked very much as though he wanted to roll his eyes, speaking under his breath. Caitlin answered the call.

"Caitlin!" came the frantic voice on the other end.

Caitlin glowered at the phone, confused. Stein almost never called her by her first name. _Neither_ Stein. "Professor? Are you okay?"

"I might ask you the same question," Stein replied, sounding out of breath. "Are you— _aware_ of the time, by any chance?"

Caitlin pulled the cell away from her ear, glancing at its clock. "It's 5:30, Professor, but—wait, where are you?" His voice, she could hear, seemed to echo a bit in the background.

" _I_ am at S.T.A.R. Labs. Our chosen rendezvous point for today's procedure, or so I thought." Testily, she heard Stein exhale. "And yet, I can find no trace of either you nor your superhuman companion in the building. Would you care to tell me why that is?"

Caitlin actually flinched. She made a stricken face at Savitar, who now seemed doubly annoyed by hearing only one end of a conversation _and_ having been interrupted. "Professor Stein, I am _so_ sorry. I promise, I'll be right there."

"I should hope so."

Caitlin severed the call, stuffing her phone back into her pocket. "Today's the day we were supposed to try actually _administering_ his wife's cure to her," she explained impatiently to Savitar. "I guess—with—Wally, and Linda yesterday, I got so caught up—I com _pletely_ forgot, and now—" She winced, another twinge of pain flashing across her forehead.

Savitar sighed heavily, beginning to move out of the square. "Come on. We'll head back."

"We have to stop at Jitters—"

"Caitlin," Savitar reminded her, discreetly holding up a hand and vibrating it. Time would not be an issue.

"Oh. Right." Caitlin shook her head, mentally kicking herself.

They began walking, and after a few minutes of moving through the trees, Caitlin stopped, forcing Savitar to halt with her.

"What is it?" Savitar turned around, mouth tight. Clearly he didn't relish moving at a regular pace, and slowing him down further wasn't exactly giving her brownie points.

"Well," Caitlin began, a little awkwardly, "first of all—shouldn't we be…" She glanced about, making sure no one was listening, lowering her voice. " _Flashing_ there right now?"

Savitar blinked slowly, like a cat. "That would mean connecting you to the Speed Force again. Your body needs more of a break." He raised his eyebrows. "Unless you _want_ to be ripped apart? Atom by atom?"

Caitlin lowered her eyelids at him. "No, thank you."

"Okay. A walk back to Jitters should be long enough." Turning, the speedster glanced cheekily over his shoulder. "Like _normal_ people."

He tried to begin walking again, but she still didn't budge.

"Secondly…" Caitlin added, a little smile threatening to twitch its way out. She held up her left hand again. "I think I'll be okay now. You can let go."

Savitar's mismatched gaze flicked from her hand in his and then back to her, unbothered. He went to face her fully again. "Who says this is for you?"

She let him lead her onward, tightening her own grip. She was reminded of the day Zoom had set her free, the day she'd been allowed to return to Team Flash after having been kidnapped and dehydrated as well as malnourished. She'd needed help standing, and of course, Barry Allen had been right there as her walking stick, one hand on her shoulder and the other holding fast to her free palm as he debriefed her on what she'd missed. Savitar's hand was stronger, with zero delicacy about the way he held her, full of confidence.

Not as if she might break, but as if she were fun to lift.

* * *

The facility Clarissa Stein had been checked into ever since her accident had name Caitlin knew.

"The Ray Palmer Hospital," she read aloud as she and a very nervous Professor Stein entered the building.

"Yes." Stein switched the briefcase holding their antidote to his other hand, heading straight for the concierge. "Named for its founder, the late Raymond Palmer. He was an astounding figure in medical advancements in the early 80's." He lowered his voice. "Am I to assume that your Earth has no such person?"

"Oh—" She cleared her throat. "No, we do have a Ray Palmer." Caitlin smiled. "He just decided on a bit of a… _different_ line of work." If you could call traversing time itself with a gaggle of unlikely do-gooders a line of work, anyway.

"Unfortunately," Stein went on, tucking his free hand behind his back, "even such an esteemed mind as our Mister Palmer had not gleaned a cure for stage four lung carcinoma."

Caitlin's eyes lingered on the sign at the welcome desk, on Ray's name. Picturing the dorky smile and the dark, perfectly-combed hair. So the Atom of this Earth had not only been born earlier, but had also died earlier. Of lung cancer. She wondered, briefly, as Stein approached the man behind the counter, what Earth-1's Ray would think of his counterpart's life. If he would consider it as short as she did. At least Earth-66's Palmer had made it count, she conceded, glancing around at the bustling, bright main floor. Hospitals frightened most people—but Caitlin had always sort of felt at home in these places. Each one was stuffed with hearts that wanted to help.

The concierge, a middle-aged man with a shock of red hair, beamed at them as they reached him. "Mister Stein! It's been a day or two, hasn't it? Always nice to see you here!"

Stein's voice was tight; Caitlin guessed he must have spoken to this man a little too often before being allowed to see his wife. "Yes, hello again, Carlton. As I'm sure you've already heard, I am here for a frankly salient meeting with Doctor Sullivan."

"Doctor Sullivan?" Carlton glanced at the screen of the nearest computer, tapping and swiping with a finger a few times. Caitlin watched his eyebrows draw closer and closer together, watched confusion strain the corners of his mouth. "I'm sorry, but there's no record of—"

"It should be scheduled for promptly 6 PM." Stein's knuckles tightened on the handle of his briefcase. "He knew I was coming."

After a moment more, Carlton shook his head. "It says here Doctor Sullivan is at a conference in Michigan for the weekend. Are you sure you agreed it was _this_ Saturday?"

Stein's lower jaw jutted out a bit, and Caitlin saw his brown eyes darken. "I may be old, Carlton, but I think the myriad of scientific awards and PhDs hanging in the office of my hugely-successful company"—Carlton was now leaning just hairs backward with every syllable—"can attest to my having not gone senile just yet."

Caitlin tried to look anywhere but directly at the two gentlemen, prickly at the barely-disguised storm that was obviously brewing in a genius who had already been on edge today. There was a reason Martin Stein was one half of an unstoppable superhero on her Earth, and it wasn't just his intellect.

Carlton took a moment to collect himself. "Look, I'm—I really am sorry, Mister Stein, but Doctor Sullivan is _not here_. I literally have no—"

"What in heaven's name is it with your generation and this constant misuse of the word _literally_?" Stein practically hissed. He slung the briefcase down on the desk. Normally, Caitlin would have been worried about its contents after it hit the counter with such velocity, but she knew for a fact that it was heavily reinforced, despite its mediocre outward appearance. "Never mind Sullivan. I've had enough conversations with him and his regular staff to be confident in his support of what I intend to do here today. Regardless of his absence, I need to see my wife right away."

Carlton eyed the briefcase. Slowly, his startled blue irises drifted back up to Stein. "What's in that?"

"Possibly my greatest achievement," replied Stein impatiently. "And, in an hour's time, it should be seen as Clarissa's saving grace. Now, if you don't mind, I require a key card for her ward. Immediately."

"Mister Stein," began Carlton, visibly sweating, "you and I both know you can't just administer an unknown substance to—"

"You and _I_ , Carlton?" scoffed Stein. "Which one of us is currently teaching two different classes on physical science?"

Poor Carlton gaped, struggling for something with which to combat that, and suddenly his gaze landed on Caitlin. "Who's this?" he demanded, clearly trying out a more welcoming tone.

Caitlin's lips parted to introduce herself, but Stein was too quick, stretching an arm out to stop her stepping forward.

"This is Miss Nadezhda Ivanov, my associate," Martin informed the concierge smoothly. "Ivanov is an esteemed figurehead of medical science in her country and has traveled here by plane from Saint Petersburg. She's spent the past four months in my company, perfecting the substance contained in this briefcase to achieve what your top minds haven't even come close to: curing Clarissa." He turned the briefcase around, opening it, giving Carlton just a glimpse of the phial tucked safely inside. "Thousands of resources have gone into this project, Carlton, I daresay _millions_."

Carlton was still watching Caitlin. "Is this true?"

Caitlin wanted to sink into the floor. She knew French, Latin, and even a little Spanish (thanks to working with Cisco for so long). But she'd never really learned much Russian. And she doubted Stein had brought any sort of certificate showing the hospital staff that she came from Saint Petersburg. How did he intend to prove this?

Before she could respond, Stein fixed Carlton with such a sharp look of retribution, Caitlin thought she could feel its heat from where she stood. "You expect her to waste time with a simple, outdated language like ours when she's spent her life serving only those most in need within her own country? Are you implying that one should endeavor to learn the English language just because it makes _your_ life easier?"

Carlton flushed. "Oh—I—she can't speak English?"

" _Nyet_ ," Caitlin said quickly, an absurd flash of pride overtaking her as she remembered at least one Russian word.

"No, and apparently," Stein pulled the briefcase off the desk, drawing himself up to his full height, "neither can you. As I said, the two of us _will_ be visiting Clarissa's ward this evening, _with_ or _without_ your approval, I'm afraid. Unless you'd prefer she take it up with your current, shall we say, manager-on-duty? Or perhaps, even, Sullivan himself. I'm sure the good Doctor would enjoy a phone call interrupting his very important conference in order to sort out this little tiff." Stein held up his cell phone. "I do have him on speed dial."

Carlton's blue eyes said he was pretty sure they weren't telling him the whole truth. But, fancy hospital worker or no, like many other employees, he seemed to prefer spending as little time as possible serving a pair of difficult customers. And, Caitlin had to admit, having someone like Stein in your face with such a detailed excuse was hard to bear on a busy day in an establishment like this. If anything really went wrong, explaining it all to his superiors would definitely glean some sympathy. Even if he _had_ breached protocol.

Within the next few minutes, mouth tightly shut, Carlton had secured for them a key card to Clarissa's ward.

Stein shot the man a very stiff smile. "Thank you."

Walking quicker than she had ever seen him do on this Earth, Stein led Caitlin to the nearest elevator, briefcase in tow.

* * *

Clarissa Stein of Earth-66 was completely gray.

Caitlin wasn't sure Mrs. Stein could look any more lifeless, lying there in her hospital bed, until she realized that this dimension's version had already lost all the blonde left to her. Her eyes seemed more sunken in, too, and her skin was like tissue paper. They watched her chest shakily rise, as if it were a pool float a child was trying to inflate, and it seemed to take hours for it to finally fall back down again. Then she started over.

However limp and aching Clarissa seemed, when Caitlin glanced to the right, Martin Stein's expression told her there was no one in the multiverse he found more captivating.

Caitlin glanced at the screen on Clarissa's ventilator. Every level it showed was in a constant state of flux. "This is…" She twirled a hand a few times, halfheartedly, at her side, glancing at Stein. "A miracle."

Stein didn't respond, eyes still fixed on his wife. He had set the briefcase down in a nearby chair—a chair that already had one of his tweed jackets hanging over it, probably from a previous visit—and was standing near enough to the cot to take her hand.

"She shouldn't even be alive," Caitlin went on, letting her mouth work while her brain processed the data the ventilator displayed. "The amount of Nimbus' gas in her system—her lungs should be all but obsolete."

"Yes, well, believe me, if it were as simple as stuffing a tube down her throat and _vacuuming_ out the substance…" Stein's voice was quiet and dry and full of bitterness toward what his partner was suffering. "You and I wouldn't be standing here now."

Caitlin took another look at the woman in the bed, listening to the awful rattling sound Mrs. Stein made as she struggled to gain even a fraction of the oxygen healthy human beings took in each time they inhaled. "Professor Stein," she began, nearly whispering. "If this doesn't work…"

Stein looked up at her then. He had never seemed older or more tired than in that moment when their eyes locked. Though he held Clarissa's hand, which should have made him steady, Caitlin could actually _see_ him shaking. Just a bit. "Then I will have nothing left to lose, Doctor Snow," he concluded evenly. "And perhaps I can finally admit defeat." His grip on his wife tightened all the more. "Allow her some peace."

Caitlin went around the bed and opened the briefcase, preparing the syringe. "Four years ago on my Earth," she began, eyes on the tool, "I lost my fiancé. I still think about him—every day when I wake up. Every night when I go to bed. When I eat pizza," she added quickly, with a half laugh. She mustn't forget to mention pizza.

The left-hand corner of Stein's mouth quirked, as though he wanted to smile.

Relieved that he wasn't interrupting her, or offended that she was taking this moment to talk about herself while they stood in his dying wife's hospital room, Caitlin continued. Picturing those moments that still held Ronnie, even after so long.

"When I hear his favorite song, or pass his picture in the hall. Or…when I'm in a room full of people, but I still feel lonely because everyone else has someone they look for in that room first. And I can't look for him anymore." She swallowed, staring unwaveringly at her friend, moved to see recognition in his expression. He'd already felt some of these things himself. "It's been four years, and I miss him, but life hasn't stopped, Professor. Good things happened. Even without Ronnie. I laughed again. I still had friends to get out of bed for, a reason to keep going."

Stein's gaze drifted back to Clarissa, ignoring the rattling sound, ignoring the ventilator casting its shadow over her bed. Slowly, subtly, he was nodding as Caitlin spoke.

"Even if this doesn't work," Caitlin went on, trying to keep her voice steady, and Stein's posture became rigid at the thought, "if you have to say goodbye—there are always other things to care about. Other people to live for."

"I suppose," Stein broke in thickly, "the way you put it, Doctor Snow…to do anything less would be rather self-serving, in a way." He ran his thumb along Clarissa's limp, weathered hand.

Caitlin tilted her head. "I'm not saying you can't be sad, but—believe me, if there's anything I've learned over the years, it's that there _is_ a difference between grieving and giving up."

For a few minutes, neither of them said anything more. Stein continued to hold his wife, and Caitlin filled the syringe with their antidote. The gas cure they'd created was now a cloudy white; Caitlin could only tell she'd acquired it properly by holding it up to a light and noting the slight difference in color.

Stein straightened suddenly, with his mouth drawn in that determined line she'd seen it pulled into when he'd confronted Kyle Nimbus. "No point in any further delays," he decided aloud. "I've waited three years for this very moment. Putting it off a second longer would be cowardice."

Caitlin went to the other side of the bed, standing across from the professor. She knew where she had to inject the antidote—near the chest area, where it would enter the lungs and, if Savitar had been right, counteract Nimbus' gas. For a moment, she imagined the hard, black stone that might drop in her own mind if Clarissa truly wasn't saved. If they couldn't fix this. _You're a doctor_ , she reminded herself, watching Stein tear his gaze from his wife and up to Caitlin herself. _She's your patient. You can do this._ And she wished Cisco were in the building somewhere, the way he always was back home, ready to monitor vitals or congratulate her when she was finished. Ready to put an arm around her and squeeze her shoulder, strong and just _there_ whenever she needed him. Or Barry with his hands laced behind his head, pacing with concern. With his huge heart and his willingness to help, even if, as the Flash and not a doctor himself, there was little he could actually do. Or even Dr. Wells, the Wells she'd trusted first, the motor of his wheelchair comforting in the background as she worked with his watchful eyes trained on her, confident in her skill.

Instead she had Martin of Earth-66, who seemed no less confident in her, no less willing to help, and yet completely, painfully hinged on whether she won or lost this fight. But when their eyes met, his held a quiet, kind trust that only came with having seen a few things at his age. Having failed many times too. Knowing she had done her best to give him hope.

Stein nodded, once. "Do it, Caitlin."

With a careful, fluid movement, Caitlin injected the antidote.

For a full two minutes, there did not appear to be any change. At first, Caitlin comforted herself with the reminder that no change was better than, say, the condition going from bad to worse. But as the seconds ticked by and she removed the needle, closing up the injection point with quick, professional fingers, she felt everything inside her start to tremble. Caitlin had lost quite a few fights, yes, but she knew that if this didn't work, it would haunt her in a way that nothing else yet had. That whatever Stein's reaction would be should she fail, it would burn itself into her memory. There would be no getting rid of it.

Then the woman in the bed gasped.

"Clarissa!" Stein said it as though it were the only word he knew. As though anything he ever wanted to communicate could be carried by her name alone.

Neither of them could tell right in that moment if this was a good sign, and Stein gripped her like he was hanging over a chasm of some kind, and she was his only lifeline.

Clarissa did not buck or writhe or even wince.

Caitlin flew to the ventilator, checking the monitor. The levels were, at a snail's pace, slowly becoming consistent. She glanced over her shoulder and saw, as Stein was seeing, Clarissa's chest rise and fall, rise and fall. Rhythmically. Steadily. The way it was supposed to.

A few coughs spluttered out from between dry, out-of-use lips, but Mrs. Stein didn't seem disturbed any longer. The rattling continued when she breathed, and Caitlin watched the clock. One minute. Three minutes. Five minutes. Gradually, the rattling went away.

Clarissa didn't open her eyes, or gasp again, but her face seemed clearer. More relaxed. _At peace_.

"It worked," Stein breathed. He laughed. It was a laugh Caitlin had never heard come out of him, not on Earth-1, not here. Ever. It was a young man's laugh, full of wonder and joy. Caitlin saw him blink one time too many; she thought she might be close to tears of her own, watching him. "It worked!"

Caitlin let out a tiny chortle, thinking _her_ chest felt a little lighter, too.

Then Clarissa's hand twitched in her husband's, and Caitlin's eyes, for some reason, fixed themselves on those two hands and the wedding bands—both simple and silver—that brushed against one another every few heartbeats.

She wondered, briefly, what Ronnie's hands would have looked like at that age. She tried to picture it, but all she could recall were the hands he'd had when she last saw him, before the Singularity—firm, young, holding her as comfortably as ever. And then, barely twenty minutes later, the sensation of being held by those particular hands was gone forever.

In the next breath, as Clarissa's gasp died out, in the time it took to blink, Caitlin—for reasons she couldn't have explained to you—flashed back to that afternoon in the park. When Savitar had outright decided that he wasn't going to let go of her hand, even as she walked, healthy as ever and perfectly capable of moving on her own, all the way back to Jitters.

Was that what it was like? she wondered. Was that what Martin and Clarissa had been, before Nimbus had pulled the energy and most of the life from the poor woman's body? Had Stein held on just as tightly as he was doing now for all the years he'd had her, just as tightly as Ronnie once held onto his high-strung bioengineer? As tightly, Caitlin realized, as Savitar had held onto her hours ago? Even when there was no reason to do it?

Just because he would rather walk holding her hand than walk on his own.

* * *

 **(Author's Note: Ahh, Old Man Science. I miss him, guys. Both on Legends of Tomorrow _and_ The Flash. Let me know your thoughts, Jell-O Squares! You are all super great. ~Doverstar)**


	37. Chapter 37: Hook

**(Author's Note: Here we go, Jell-O Squares! The final four chapters [plus an epilogue I have planned] begin now! Hold onto your Big Belly Burgers. It's about to get wild. Love you all for sticking with me this long! ~Doverstar)**

* * *

If the Reverse Flash himself had shown up at her door and given her a Wet Willie, it wouldn't have mattered. _Nothing_ could ruin Caitlin Snow's good mood.

It had only been a day since she had given Clarissa Stein the cure to Nimbus' poison gas. Caitlin had been frankly euphoric in those 24 hours, and she got the feeling that it could last the rest of the week, barring any unforeseen circumstances. She'd come back the night before utterly exhausted. After staying late at the hospital with Stein, who fielded questions from various nurses and doctors (all shocked at the extreme change in Clarissa's condition), both mind and body were ready for a nap. Even if she hadn't had to do much explaining; most of the staff had heard from Carlton that she was apparently a renowned Russian physician and didn't deign to speak English.

Stein had behaved as if someone had pumped new life into his veins. He was full of energy and wit, and no amount of skepticism or impatience the hospital workers had with the situation could tear him down. Caitlin had watched, slightly envious of his confidence and intelligence, as he explained their antidote with the ease of a longstanding teacher. He'd even borrowed someone's clipboard to make a diagram, never once releasing his wife's hand. Through all the noise and observations and frequent checks to her ventilator, Clarissa had slept placidly, her breathing more and more even. One of the nurses had suggested preparing a full-blown meal for her in the event that she returned to consciousness within the next eight hours, something that had been becoming more and more likely by the minute.

Caitlin, stifled by the number of people in the room, had given Professor Stein's arm a squeeze and nodded to the door, indicating it was about time for her to head home. Stein had only nodded back, but Caitlin could see—first from the smile that wouldn't be doused, and then from the almost childlike warmth when he looked at her—that she was in for what would probably be an hour-long thank you call later on.

Arriving back at S.T.A.R. Labs near midnight, Caitlin was pleased to see that Savitar had been up waiting for her. Looking bored, he'd been eating a bag of Doritos in the lobby, sitting on the Welcome desk rather than behind it as she came through the sliding double doors.

There was a new warmth between them since he'd introduced her to Flashtime. Or at least, _Caitlin_ felt a new warmth. He didn't behave very differently at all, but when she saw him then, returning from Clarissa's salvation, she was practically tackled by an affection that hadn't been there that morning. Or maybe it had, but it was almost as if it had been sleeping, and something had kicked it awake. Where it might have made her feel awkward with someone else—an image of Jay, before he was Zoom to her, came without invitation to her mind—with Savitar it fit as snugly as her favorite pair of shoes.

He couldn't have missed it, she was sure—it was practically cascading from her, the warmth. But when she approached the Welcome desk, noticing fondly that he still insisted on sleeping in his day clothes, Savitar's demeanor was the same as ever. _His_ version of friendly.

When Caitlin had told him, breathless between delight and fatigue, that Professor Stein's wife was cured, he didn't beam the way Barry would or hug her or anything explosive like that.

Instead, he bounced his eyebrows, offered her the open bag of Doritos, and said, "No surprises there."

Caitlin had taken a chip, though she'd rather be sleeping than eating. "What do you mean?" she'd asked, cocking her head.

"You're Caitlin," was Savitar's calm explanation. "You either fix the problem or it doesn't get fixed. There's no _I tried_." He shrugged, palms and Dorito bag held high. Chewing mouth twisted into one of his little smiles.

"Is this your way of saying you knew I could do it?" She smiled back, brows arched.

"Don't get cocky, Doctor Snow."

Professor Stein had refused to leave his wife's hospital room, of course, and had been there all night and throughout the first half of the next day. Until this very moment, she'd believed he was still there.

Caitlin was returning with breakfast to S.T.A.R. Labs when he called her. She would have asked Savitar to speed to Jitters and back, confident he would agree if she put on a sweet enough smile, but about half an hour after he'd gone out for another Mick Rory search, Linda Park had shown up again. This time she wasn't using explosives, but appeared to be playing a game of tag with a few police officers in the West Side, having stolen a few jewels from a nearby store.

 _Summer Lovin'_ burst from the Bluetooth device in her ear and Caitlin nearly dropped her tray of coffee.

"Hello?"

"Ah—yes, good morning, Doctor Snow."

"Professor?" Caitlin readjusted the tray. "Good morning." It sounded more like a question than a greeting, to her slight embarrassment. Why would he be calling her—calling anyone—doing _anything_ other than sitting in that hospital with his wife?

Stein was still talking—he must've begun a tangent of some kind and she hadn't been listening for the past two minutes. Now he spluttered, "So as of ten minutes ago, they are suspending me from Clarissa's ward, can you believe it?"

"What?" Caitlin faltered in the corridors.

"They want to run a few tests and have requested I take my leave for the time being." Stein sounded raspy with lack of sleep, but Caitlin could hear an undercurrent of the same happiness she felt. If she was feeling giddy, he must be on Cloud Nine. "I fear I may have left a few of my things at S.T.A.R. Labs yesterday, so I'll be joining you within the hour."

"Well, you know where to find us," Caitlin reminded him, grinning.

"Your _basement_ of operations, right," Stein mused. "While I appreciate the biological reference, is the title _Cortex_ something you intend to keep?"

"I think it was sort of…" She cleared her throat. "Predetermined."

"I see. You'll let me know if there comes a time it bears changing, I hope? I may've come up with a few alternatives last night." Stein's smile could actually be _heard_ through the call. "Had she been awake at the time, I feel certain Clarissa could relay the details to you."

Caitlin pictured Stein bouncing various names for their Cortex off of his sleeping wife, probably sitting right on the edge of the bed, now that she was comfortable enough for company. She wondered if her facial muscles would start cramping; she'd been grinning so long. "I'll see you soon, Professor Stein."

The Cortex, still full of the smell of soap from her detailed mopping job that morning, seemed homier than ever before. Maybe it was the single lavender-scented Yankee candle she'd lit on the white winding desk—in an old jar, to keep the wax from making a mess. Maybe it was the total lack of clutter anywhere, because, at long last, she had finally finished restoring that particular room in Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs.

But it was most likely because of her new friends taking up residence there today.

Wally and Eddie stood behind the three main monitors, Wally spinning in one of the chairs and Eddie standing, gaze fixed on the screen to the far right. They seemed perfectly comfortable, to Caitlin's unending relief.

Earth-66's _non_ -Kid Flash had been so frustrated with the breach machine lately; Caitlin had ordered he take a break. She wanted him to fix whatever had gone wrong, of course—but she couldn't bring herself to demand more work from him after he'd been trying so hard, despite all the roadblocks. It had already taken her a week to convince the poor boy that she didn't hate him for failing on the first try.

When Wally had shown up at S.T.A.R. Labs to do the _opposite_ of taking a break around 10 AM, she'd sent him to the Cortex to wait for breakfast and monitor Savitar's progress with his pyro manhunt. She'd taught him how to prepare the tracking system and had left for Jitters, much to Savitar's irritation. The speedster had been put on speaker, in a way, because Wally wasn't allowed to use Caitlin's Bluetooth device to communicate with him in case of an emergency. She was loathe to hand it over in case her family from Earth-1 somehow managed to contact her.

"I don't need backup for this," Savitar had pointed out dully over the Bluetooth, on a separate connection than the Cortex's speakers. This way, Wally wouldn't hear the speedster rejecting his assistance aloud.

Snow had dismissed his pouting right away. "If something happens where you are and you need eyes, I won't be here to help. You of all people should know: being a superhero is a lot easier if you're airing on the side of caution. We need to be prepared for anything."

"If I wanted to be prepared for anything, I'd've brought my armor with us to this Earth," Savitar argued.

Caitlin climbed into her car. "You'd rather be caught by surprise?"

"I'd rather live a little, Caitlin."

Now, not only was Wally monitoring Savitar's vitals during his little chase with Linda Park, Eddie had joined the party. He was calling instructions to Savitar over the comms.

"They've cordoned off the end of the street," Eddie was saying as Caitlin entered the Cortex.

Savitar's voice crackled through the room, rough and distracted. Caitlin's newfound warmth made a golden reappearance just at the sound of it, however blunt. "That's not stopping her. If she can see past it, she'll move past it."

"Then," Eddie pursed his lips, thinking for a second, eyes on the marks that represented Park and Savitar on the monitor's citywide map, "keep her preoccupied and she won't get by it."

"She hasn't left this block," Savitar grunted. "I don't think that's gonna be a problem."

"Well, we should still stay on our toes." Eddie's tone was patient.

Savitar's was not. "Comms aren't for friendly advice, Eddie."

Eddie's eyebrows drew together. "I know, I was just—"

There was a beep.

Savitar had switched off communications. Caitlin rolled her eyes.

"It shouldn't be this hard," Wally muttered. He was pulling at one of the drawstrings of his hoodie, absently watching Savitar's vitals—they were in perfect condition. "He's like eighty times faster than her. Just grab her."

"If she can move to a completely different location in a blink, even after he caught up to her, he would have to figure out where she reappeared before going after her again," Caitlin reminded them, setting the tray of coffee down.

Eddie smiled in greeting, glancing at the number of drinks she'd gotten. He sighed before speaking, a sign Savitar was actually starting to get on his nerves. No doubt the feeling was mutual. "Nothing for me?"

"I didn't know you were coming," Caitlin explained apologetically. She shot him a motherly glower. "Don't you have police business to attend to?"

"I'm not the _whole_ force, Caitlin. Really—" Eddie took a swig from the nearest cup, "—I came here to meet Wally, but Savitar called for coordinates when Park showed up, so I thought I'd—"

"Bro." Wally spread his palms, a look of great offense swinging through his expression. "You know I get the mocha."

"That's why I took it." Eddie licked his lips, grinning. "You're the only one who won't mind." When West continued to scowl at him, Eddie teased, "Come on, we're practically family!"

"Pushin' it," Wally grumbled, standing and taking his drink back.

Thawne glanced at the screen, grimacing as he watched Linda escape once again. "Does she even have the things she stole anymore?"

"I bet you she dropped a couple by now," Wally suggested, looking a bit tired. He didn't seem to feel he was needed here, though Caitlin could tell by his relaxed slump that even this was a welcome reprieve from his work in the engineering wing.

Detective Thawne's hands flew over the keys below, trying to turn back on the speakers after the speedster had disconnected them. Caitlin got the feeling that this Earth's Harrison Wells hadn't donated the _entire_ system to the CCPD when he was alive; clearly Eddie wasn't sure how to work every feature they had here.

She stepped in between the two men and pressed the spacebar of the middle computer, leaning toward one of the mics. "Savitar, it's Caitlin."

A puff, as if he were breathing a little heavily as he moved, and then a single, "Good." Another rush of air, and something muffled, which Caitlin took from past experiences to be the sound of Linda Park moving yet again. Dryly, Savitar added, "How's your day?"

On Eddie's screen, the bright red dot that was Linda blipped from one end of the street to the next, as far away from Savitar's green sphere as it could be in that section.

"She's right in front of the police barricade," Caitlin informed Savitar. "Get over there. If she gets past them, she'll be able to see down either end of the riverfront and she's as good as gone."

She half expected some backlash, for Savitar to give a more adult variation of _don't tell me what to do_. Or even, _I know that._ Instead, he complied, his dot zooming toward Linda's. For a moment, the red and green dots met, and Eddie leaned forward, anticipating victory.

Then the rushing sound sent static bouncing through the Cortex yet again, and Savitar said, "Nope." They all glanced at the map, but Linda hadn't blipped beyond the police barricade—she'd gone back to the opposite end of the street. The speedster added, sounding impatient, "Like I told you before: she won't leave this block."

Eddie shook his head. "What do you think could be keeping her there?" he asked, glancing at Caitlin.

"Maybe her powers are jacked up," suggested Wally, turning down the brightness on his monitor.

"She might be panicking," added Caitlin, biting her lip. "We don't know how long she's had these powers, or how much distance she can travel at a time. She's probably never met much resistance until now. With someone coming after her, someone moving as fast as she is—or—faster—it could just be that she's…"

"Psyching herself out?" Wally finished.

"Exactly."

"Been there." The boy raised his eyebrows, glancing at Linda's dot as though he could see her face, picturing how stressed it might be. "I mean, if that's true, then all Savitar's gotta do is wait for her to give up."

"Doesn't seem tired," Savitar cut in. "If I could catch her, giving up wouldn't be necessary."

Something a little eager in his voice made Caitlin grab the mic. "When you do catch her, _just_ put the cuffs on," she ordered sharply. "That's all the contact you'll need."

Eddie and Wally stared at her, surprised by her warning tone.

Caitlin cleared her throat, covering the mic. Lowering her voice, she explained awkwardly, "He's had… _unconventional_ methods when it comes to bagging the bad guys. We're working on it."

"As long as he stops them," Eddie muttered, zooming in on the map. "He's already doing us a favor, taking them on at all. No matter how he does it."

Caitlin was about to argue, a little startled to hear that this leniency was Eddie's view on the subject—she was used to a little more honor where the blonde detective was concerned—but Savitar interrupted her.

"Hey. Comms aren't for the Peanut Gallery either." A bit of static as he ran. "If you're not helping, don't talk."

Wally pointed at Eddie accusingly, keeping his mouth tightly shut. Eddie gave him a hooded-eyelid look.

Caitlin picked up her own coffee. "Well," she said, voice dropping a bit so as not to disturb their testy hero, "it seems like you two have everything under control here."

"They can go back to their day jobs now," Savitar responded. There was a grunt—and Linda snarling something. Clearly he'd come closer to nabbing her that time.

Doctor Snow tried not to roll her eyes while Eddie and Wally were watching, and leaned back down toward the mic. "I have to bring food to the Pipeline."

"Food to where?" Wally sat up straighter in his seat.

"It's where they keep he crazies," Eddie explained. "Like Park."

"You been there?"

"Once."

"When am _I_ gonna get the VIP tour?" Wally demanded, glancing at Caitlin.

Caitlin delivered an almost motherly look out of the sides of her eyes, but didn't answer directly. She couldn't imagine a situation in which West would need to _be_ in the Pipeline. The last time this Earth's Wally had tangled with a meta, she'd had to ice him. Instead, she continued into the mic, "You're in good hands, Savitar."

Before he could snap that he didn't _need_ those hands, she switched off her Bluetooth device and shut down the comms in the Cortex's speakers. After several months, constant complaints about teambuilding was something she was getting _really_ tired of. He could use a little bit of radio silence, a taste of his own medicine.

Besides, that good mood was not about to jeopardized by an emo speedster's whining.

Turning to the two gentlemen behind the white winding desk on her way out, Caitlin said, "He'll…probably turn those back on soon. Just a heads-up." She cleared her throat, nodding once, and tried to look confident. She knew very well how much she had just irritated their superhuman friend—like a little sister hiding under the bed while her brother tattled about a broken toy.

High heels clicking, she made her escape before Savitar could reconnect, Wally and Eddie looking as though she'd just shut them in a room with a starving tiger.

* * *

Armed with the same breakfast sandwich for both criminals, Caitlin headed down to the cells in the Pipeline.

On Earth-1, the Pipeline was eerie and a bit too quiet, but at least it was clean. They'd fixed it up during the years after the particle accelerator had failed them. After all, human beings—however meta—would be staying down there, and it had to be held to some kind of standard. Caitlin had made a cleaning schedule within the first few months of converting it into a prison. Of course, _now_ Iron Heights was equipped to handle supervillains, so they needn't be held in secret in S.T.A.R. Labs' basement any longer. They still kept it at least semi-livable.

On Earth-66, the Pipeline was indeed eerie, but it wasn't clean. The particle accelerator had left a sharp, acidic taste in the air, and each wall was caked in soot or deep cracks from the explosion. The floor was hidden under a thin layer of three-years-dormant dust, and Caitlin's heels kept kicking it up as she walked. She hadn't exactly had a chance to spruce things up in the basement. It wasn't quiet, either. Several pipes and electronic filters had been fractured in the accident on this Earth, and every so often sparks might shower down, feebly, in some corner, or one of the pipes would make a sudden hissing sound. She had learned by now not to jump whenever it happened, but during the early weeks here…well, she was glad the security cameras weren't online by default in this version of S.T.A.R. Labs. There would be some pretty humiliating footage to sift through.

The past few times she'd gone down to feed the prisoners, they had been noticeably less talkative. Lisa Snart had stopped asking after Savitar and could be found lounging on her cot, waiting for her meal in pouty silence. Here, unfortunately, she didn't have any means of bathing herself, and her hair had long since lost its luster. She didn't look _awful_ , but Caitlin could see, even in her eyes, how maddening it must be to be stuck here. Pity had managed to work its way in, even if Doctor Snow was well aware of how much Snart deserved this.

Back home, Cisco had installed a showerhead-esque grate in the Pipeline's cells, and a kind of toilet, so that the metas would have no excuse to leave their prisons. It was also a lot more humane. Caitlin knew it had bothered Cisco, in the early years, keeping the villains in the Labs' underbelly without at least some modern conveniences. It had nettled her, too, of course, but at the time she'd been so focused on training Barry with Dr. Wells and stopping the metas that _hadn't_ been caught, she hadn't really spared a moment to rectify the problem. But Cisco was always thinking ahead.

Nimbus was asleep more often than not, but if he did speak to her, it was usually something vague and dark, similar to the time he'd hinted he would probably die in that cell. He did it so deliberately that Caitlin had wondered a few times, in her nail-biting way, whether or not Nimbus' condition affected him as well. Was the gas in his system, the meta properties, slowly taking _his_ life? The Kyle Nimbus of Earth-1 had been stable, with the ability to convert his atoms into poison at will. But maybe it was different here.

Caitlin had done a few tests, though, using the computers upstairs to monitor and observe Kyle's inner workings, and had found zero signs of deterioration. So he was being creepy for creepiness' sake. Some clichés never die.

She was glad she'd thought to bring the med bay's instrument trolley down this time; balancing two bacon/egg/cheese biscuits while trying to scan her palm would have been a bit messy.

"Ladies first," she announced as the hangar door to Lisa's cell slid upward.

Caitlin stopped, having taken only two steps toward the food chute.

Lisa was not in her cell.

 _That's not possible._ Caitlin's stare bounded and leapt over each corner, each inch of the room beyond that huge, thick pane of glass. It was a ridiculous thing to do, she knew. There was very little else in the cell apart from its prisoner; her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. There was nothing for Snart to hide behind. Nothing for her to climb, nothing to hang from. Barely even a shadow to duck into.

She really wasn't there. But that didn't make sense. _There's nowhere for her to go._

Something didn't… _smell_ right. Like her grandfather's couch cushions, or the outside of a gas station. A dark curl wafted into the air, just for a split second, coming from low down. Caitlin stepped closer, heart in her mouth, able to see the whole of the floor the nearer she got.

A smoking, huge hole had been boiled into the ground of the cell, as close to the glass wall as it could get without reaching it. The tiny rise of wall that held the glass on the floor had hidden the hole from her view at first, perfectly positioned and perfectly round.

Caitlin darted to the palm scanner, and the glass wall slid up. Once she was certain she couldn't be ambushed—no climbing, no hanging, after all, and of course there was that human-sized _hole_ inside, indicating that Lisa was indeed gone—she rushed in and knelt beside the indentation.

The hole reached down so far, it was like looking into a void. The blue light flashing from above the cell didn't do much to give Caitlin a sense of depth.

Had Lisa smuggled in some kind of chemical? But they'd searched her when Savitar had apprehended her. There was no way she could have done this. Almost numb, Caitlin stared at the hole, brain throbbing and reaching and trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

 _Nimbus._

She kicked off her heels, leaving them there in the hall as she hurried down corridor after corridor, heading for Kyle's little pocket. Her throat felt swollen; she was getting mild anxiety, realizing that the last time she'd run this frantically down halls that mirrored these, she had been running to get to Ronnie in his final seconds of life.

Caitlin slid to a halt when she neared the corner that would lead to Nimbus' cell. _What am I doing?_ Visions of that awful green smoke encasing her, choking her, made her vision swim. Caitlin leaned against a nearby wall, pausing for breath. She couldn't just barrel in there. If Nimbus was part of Lisa's escape, he was loose too, and she wasn't about to make the mistake of confronting him alone twice. This time Killer Frost might not fade away after freezing away the gas.

Slowly, quietly, Caitlin craned her neck around the wall. She could see Nimbus' cell hangar was shut, just as Lisa's had been. For all she knew, he was safe and secure on the other side, completely unaware of his teammate's flight to freedom.

She had to be sure.

Tiptoeing in bare feet against a filthy floor, feeling exactly like a child sneaking downstairs for a midnight snack, Caitlin rested her hand against the palm scan. The hangar door lifted innocently, loud as ever, and she winced at the sound. Why did everything here have to be so rusty? Why hadn't anyone come and at least condemned the building in the past three years? Yes, that would mean that she and her friend couldn't use it as a base upon their arrival to Earth-66, but right in that second, Caitlin resented the city officials for their poor decisions. No building? No rattling hangar door. No hangar door? No metahuman alerted to her presence in the Pipeline. Foolproof.

Caitlin immediately found the hole in this cell, not realizing she was shakily expecting it until the moment the room was visible to her. No Kyle Nimbus.

"Caity, you are _terrible_ at hide-and-seek."

At the unfamiliar voice, the English accent, Caitlin turned around so quickly, her hair looped around to the other side of her head and smacked her in the face. It was such an unexpected thing to hear, she was almost unsurprised to _see_ something even more surreal to match it.

Before her, standing limp and casual in the entrance to the pocket, was a tall, impossibly wiry figure. A mask made of white, spotless cotton and a child's scribble of a smile covered the face, but she could see a ropy mop's head of bright red hair slashing out wildly behind it. Sinewy arms and torso were covered in a too-large, cottony shirt that must have been green at some point. Nimble, ridiculously-long legs were decked in two different patterns, one for each—black and yellow stripes to the left, white and black checkers to the right. He wasn't wearing shoes, and his feet were surprisingly clean on the dusty metal ground.

It was like facing a life-sized Rag Doll.

"This is awfully disappointing, I think," the strange man complained, bending completely backward and resting his elbows on the floor, chin in hands, looking up at her from between his legs. "You're so much chattier on the telly."

 _Contortionist_ , Caitlin analyzed. But that was all her brain would say. Something about the cotton mask, the very real lack of a certain gas-converting meta in the room—she couldn't breathe, even if Nimbus _wasn't_ the one confronting her. Doll. A big English rag doll. A primal, child's nightmare of hers was tapping her mind on the shoulder. Black, chest-tightening, cheek-tingling fear grabbed Caitlin's ankle and spread up, up, through her system.

Her hand flew to her ear, searching for the Bluetooth device. She needed to warn Savitar. She needed backup.

 _It's upstairs._

 _It's on the desk._

 _I shut it off._

The stranger righted himself, back to a more average standing position, and mimicked her action. The difference was that his hand slid from his ear to the high collar of his baggy shirt, pinching something out of sight. "Hold on, Caity, I've simply _got_ to take this." He cleared his throat, speaking into a communication device. "Lisa, tell Miss Park it's time to come home now. Playtime is over."

 _He knows Lisa._ Caitlin took a single step backward. Miss Park. Linda. Playtime? She'd solved the mystery of Linda's fixation on that one block. Park had been stalling.

"Oh, we'll be right behind you," the man was saying now into his own comms. "Just finishing up here." He seemed to finish the call, turning his attention back to Doctor Snow. He pointed a white, gloved hand toward her ear. "Yours on the fritz?"

She couldn't respond. Caitlin glanced at the palm scanner beside him, knowing it wasn't possible for him to operate it, but worrying he'd shut her in the cell all the same. And here she was, stupidly standing in prime position for it. But he wasn't a former S.T.A.R. Labs employee on this Earth, so he couldn't have—or was he? The fear just got thicker when she realized how little knowledge she actually had about the person who had cornered her. She'd never felt less in control.

The man leapt, looking exactly like a frog, and landed above the hole in the cell, getting a good look at her. He gasped. "You haven't _got_ your little earpiece, have you?" A disturbingly-sane laugh followed. "I suppose the pretty ones _can_ be rather thick after all! How could you make it so easy, Caity?"

 _He knows my name._ Caitlin's back pressed firmly against the wall, desperate to get further away from him. "What do you want?" she puffed out, recovering at least her oral functions.

The Rag Doll pulled out what appeared to be a can of silly string. "Well, I've gone to all this trouble pulling a jailbreak for my prized pupils—d'you like the tunnel? Hydrofluoric acid, not meta in the least, so I'm afraid your prisons here haven't a problem with it." He stood on one hand, balancing perfectly above the hole, pointing at it with a foot. His other hand shook the can of silly string rapidly. Caitlin might have found the sight funny under different circumstances. All the while, his masked face was trained on her. "Anyway, all this trouble and it's a shame I can't explain everything here and now, isn't it? Haven't the time."

As he spoke, Caitlin's hand shifted ever so slowly toward her snowflake pendant. She wasn't completely without defense. She pictured losing herself completely to Frost—turning for good. She could practically feel the cold wrapping around her already. The idea made her instantaneously nauseas, as always, but she may not have had a choice.

Caitlin didn't get the chance to overthink it further.

"Oh, ap, no snowstorms for me, thanks!" _He knows about Killer Frost._ The Rag Doll turned the can upside down. "Close your eyes if you want to keep them."

It happened in less than a heartbeat. She just had time to blink, shutting her eyes after all. He pressed the can's nozzle, and instead of silly string, a colorless spray shot out toward her. Having already been in the middle of taking a breath to speak, she inhaled the substance for half a second. That was all it took.

With nowhere to go, completely confused and by now quite terrified, Caitlin fell in a dizzy heap on the floor.

* * *

When she woke up, she was in a phone booth.

It didn't appear to be a _working_ phone booth, as there was no actual telephone inside it. Just a wire hanging down exposed where one should have been. The glass was marked in every possible area, and the ground was frigid beneath her. Outside the glass, she couldn't see much of her surroundings. It was artificially dark. She knew because she could see a faint electric kind of light in the corner of her eye—and with a squint she realized she was high up somewhere. The phone booth was on some sort of extremely-raised platform, because that light was far below her.

The phone booth itself had a light on inside it, of course, but it was fractured. It flickered in no determinable pattern, giving her only a brief idea of what everything nearby looked like.

Her throat was dry as cornbread, and she couldn't feel her feet. In a rush, the events in the Pipeline came back to her. Caitlin immediately tried to stand, breathing hard.

" _Ouch_!" she gasped, collapsing again.

 _Now_ she could feel her feet. Red hot pain squeezed her left ankle. Suddenly it throbbed, and went on throbbing, and Caitlin wondered how she hadn't noticed how much it had hurt before. She reached down in the low, jittery light of the booth, feeling the bone. _Sprained._ Not broken. That meant she'd been dormant long enough that the pain had died until provoked. Had that costumed stranger actually sprained one of her ankles to keep her from escaping…wherever this was? Or on their way to this phone booth in a cave of some sort, had she been hurt on accident?

Her hands felt funny too. Not as if they'd been hurt, but…

The light zapped once again, and Caitlin saw that both wrists were bound together by several zip ties. Over those, a chain was wrapped around, connected to an iron rod jutting from the floor that prevented her from lifting both hands higher than just below her chest. She could go as low as she wanted, and move as far from the pole as the walls would allow. But standing was unbalanced even without a sprained ankle, and she couldn't get to the snowflake pendant hanging from her neck.

She'd seen well-meaning videos on the internet before, demonstrating how to free oneself from zip ties. Unfortunately, each demonstration involved being in a standing position, or using her feet, neither of which were going to happen right now. She'd gotten a D+ in gym class, and there was more than one zip tying her wrists to one another. Sprained ankle or no, Caitlin wasn't getting out of this any time soon.

 _How_ could she have left the comms upstairs? How could she have turned them off? Why hadn't she checked the cells' security footage before going down to the Pipeline? She'd had time. She could have used one of the monitors, despite Eddie and Wally working them for Savitar's meta mission. She should have been more thorough, more organized, more logical. Was it the good mood? The victory of curing Clarissa Stein? Was it the sound of Savitar's voice or the way he'd looked at her as he'd sat on the Welcome desk last night, or that silly, warm feeling he'd given her lately, making her head fuzzy instead of crisp and sharp as ever?

Whatever the reason, it just came down to her. Caitlin Snow. This wasn't how she normally operated. How many times had she chastised the Flash for being careless? She had been stupid. She had been reckless. And now she was stuck, and she couldn't reach her necklace, and she couldn't call for help. She couldn't even _stand_ _up_. How pathetic could one human being be? What would Barry say if he could see the mess she'd made, see how right he'd been about her little pilgrimage to Earth-66?

Despite the mental abuse she was hurling at herself, Caitlin couldn't succumb to a pity party. There were more important things than her own self-doubt. Like what all those metas were planning, what that Rag Doll man—obviously the ringleader, with Lisa and Park at his beck and call, referring to Nimbus as one of his 'prized pupils'—was going to do next. She dragged herself to the door of the booth, shoving her shoulder up against it as hard as she could manage. Of course, it didn't even tremble.

A polite knock on the glass made her scramble backward.

The mask was off, and the red hair was gone. The only way Caitlin knew she was seeing the same person as before was the sight of the rest of that loud outfit.

"Caitlin Snow," the Rag Doll greeted, pointing at her. He was sitting outside the phone booth, as near to it as he could be, smiling widely. His legs were bent over his shoulders now, his feet on the ground, his arms folded in front of them. Clearly sitting normally was just not his style. "Please don't move about too much, you'll topple the whole ruddy thing and I'll have to clean up a lot of broken glass down there."

Caitlin reached the corner of the booth and scowled at him. He wasn't nearly as frightening without the doll traits strapped to his head. Thin blonde hair wisped up above his eyes, and his mouth was small and pale. "What do you want?" she demanded.

His eyebrows took a very high journey, up behind his bangs. "Really? I thought you'd want to know who I was next."

Caitlin didn't respond, still glaring at him. She shifted, trying not to wince when her ankle protested.

"It's really rude not to ask my name," he pouted. "I know _yours_. Brilliant to meet you in person, by the way." He twisted back into a cross-legged shape, extending a hand to the glass, as if she could reach it. "No, no, don't get up on my account." He dropped the hand, still grinning away.

There was movement down below, in the corner of her eye. Caitlin risked a glance that way and wasn't shocked to find the small figures of Lisa Snart and Mick Rory on the ground beneath them, watching. Lisa seemed to be watching, anyway. Apparently, Mick was glued to some kind of old television set near the electric light she'd seen earlier. He was sitting on a crate, his back to them all, but she'd recognize those wide shoulders and bulky head anywhere.

The Rag Doll rapped on the glass again, regaining her attention. "I'm terribly glad you're awake. It'll make the video far more dramatic. I'd appreciate it, though, if you kept quiet back there when the camera's rolling—live feed, directly and exclusively to our dear S.T.A.R. Labs, and I want to make the right first impression. You know how it goes."

 _Video?_

"As for what I want," continued the stranger, "I believe you and your God of Speed will find out at the same time. You like doing things _together_ , isn't that right? A gift from me to you, then. Both of you."

He pulled out a smartphone—it was baffling to see something so average in an environment so unfamiliar—and positioned it so that Caitlin was in the background as he recorded.

"Good evening, Savitar!" greeted the man cheerily, beaming at the camera. "You are home by now, aren't you? We haven't formally met, I'm afraid, which is fine because I have a feeling it won't be that way for long. Not once you see who came to visit me, anyway." He turned the phone so that Caitlin took up the view.

Caitlin stared at the little black circle, imagining she was looking into the Cortex, where her friends stood watching. She tried not to look afraid—and not in pain, either, though her ankle begged to differ. She wanted to say something to them—anything that might help. The problem was, she didn't have any information. She didn't know what the Rag Doll was planning.

"You see," the stranger sighed, sounding impatient, "I know your little secret. Well, _secrets_. All of them." He held up the finger sign for _okay_. "Surprise! My friends and I have your little base bugged, courtesy of Lisa Snart herself. We've been watching your program regularly, and really, the drama is just phenomenal. Especially on Tuesdays, for some reason."

Caitlin was really starting to hate the sound of that accent.

"And if you hadn't shown them where you lived, I never could have popped by to pick up little Caity here, could I?" There was a clicking of his tongue; his back was to her so she couldn't see his expression. "Listen, terribly sorry for the inconvenience, mate, but you've been quite a thorn in our sides of late, and since Caity's having a bit of trouble walking at the moment…" He turned the camera on her swollen ankle. Caitlin dragged it out of sight as quickly as she could, but not without the slightest murmur of pain. "Looks to me like this is the only way to solve both problems. Fancy a trip here? You've got…oh, look at that, I forgot to strap on my watch! Let's say twenty minutes. Should be enough time to track us down, eh?"

With a flourish of his finger, he pressed the red button that would end the recording.

Caitlin didn't give him a moment to appreciate his handiwork, filling the silence. "You've been watching us."

"That _is_ what I said, yes."

"For how long?"

"Oh, a month or so, but really, we've managed to gain all the footage you've got to offer since the pair of you fixed the Labs' crusty old system. Makes for some excellent reruns, and such fascinating context!" He leapt on top of the phone booth, and it teetered dangerously toward the edge of the platform. "Difficult to wrap my head around the whole _multiverse_ jargon, I'll admit."

Caitlin felt the floor go numb beneath her. If he knew they'd come from another Earth…Iris had been right. This was bigger than Caitlin and Savitar's little forces combined. This man wielded who _knew_ how many metahumans as his partners, and they'd practically handed him the keys to home. "What do you want with Savitar?"

He glanced down through the glass at her, face completely neutral, eyes big and round. "I want to kill him."

The shadows seemed to get longer at that. Caitlin tilted her head, the old frigid anger creeping through her lungs like frostbite. The mother bear kind of anger. The anger that made Killer Frost strongest when she was in control. If only she could get to her necklace. Picturing that narrow face up there frozen solid suddenly wasn't as inhumane as it should have seemed. "You can't kill a god," she tossed back, sneering.

"Adorable." He stood on his hands, palms flat against the clear top of the booth, staring and staring. "But despite his checkered past and your hero worship, he's not a god. He's just a very fast little boy. I assure you I've got the upper hand." He jerked his chin in her direction. "See, I can't really rule the city with your friend getting in my way so often. Cliché, I know, but Wile E. needed to set a trap for his roadrunner. And as I'm sure he'll agree…"

He slid down the box, hands grasping either side, leaning so that his nose pressed against the door.

"You make _very_ pretty bait."

 **(Author's Note: FINALLY, Big Bad is revealed. Ugh. Took forever, the little creeper. BRING ME YOUR REVIEWS, I am so ready! Next chapter coming soon. ~Doverstar)**


	38. Chapter 38: Line

**(Author's Note: A little shorter this time, so don't feel like you have to skim-read! Climax approaching, Jell-O Squares. Climax approaching. Remember to check my Twitter account [same username] for more info/updates on the fic in these final few chapters, and especially check if you're a Guest user, because that is where I will contact you if I need to reply to your review and you haven't got an account here!  
**  
 **Okay! Enjoy, my Jell-O Squares! Don't forget to blahhh all your thoughts to me; it's my bread and butter. ~Doverstar)**

* * *

"She's gone."

Eddie's voice came clear and brisk in Savitar's right ear. "What do you mean, she's gone?"

"Park. I don't see her this time."

Savitar glanced up the street, dragging his gaze over every corner, every alley in sight, every rooftop. He wasn't tired—but he wasn't exactly running on adrenaline anymore. This had gone on long enough. He could have caught her by this time if he had resorted to less humane methods; all he'd been doing was grabbing her, losing her, and running after her. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"She didn't just disappear." Eddie's voice was tight with impatience.

Savitar rolled his eyes. Caitlin's turning off the comms system for a time had almost been a blessing—even if it had kept him from complaining to an audience. If it had remained that way, he might actually have been able to focus long enough to nab the meta.

But Linda had vanished seconds ago—after evaporating, blipping out of his grip _again_ , and when the speedster had taken a moment to pinpoint her next location…nothing. No sign of her. And if the past hour was anything to go off of, she should have been making her whereabouts pretty obvious.

So he'd had to switch the comms back on, contacting the two pairs of eyes in the sky he hadn't asked for.

"This thing's been tracking her too." Wally's chair rolled back as he stood; Savitar could hear the wheels against a newly-cleaned floor. "We should be able to figure out where she went."

"Yeah, if she was showing up on the radar," agreed Eddie, with the sound of a frustrated hand slapping down on some poor surface. "Which she isn't anymore."

"She wasn't anywhere near the barricade," Savitar told them, turning on his heel to meet the baffled expressions of several officers a good distance away. "She has to be on the street somewhere. Look again."

"He's right, she's not there." Wally's response was out almost before the speedster had finished speaking. "We can see _you_ , but her mark's totally off the grid."

Eddie sounded slightly further from the mic than he had been before. Tapping away at one of the monitors. "Is there a way to—I don't know—zoom out? Maybe it's still got her, but we're not looking far enough away."

 _Zoom out?_ Savitar suddenly missed the eons of acolytes. When he could handpick his backup, they were usually tech savvy—or, provided they were from some Stone Age without smart phones and air conditioning, they were at least carrying an above-average IQ. Eddie Thawne would not have made a good acolyte.

"This isn't Google Maps," he growled. "If she's not there on the screen, we don't have her."

Suddenly, a stammering, elderly tone broke through the background on the other end. "Am I, er, interrupting something?"

"Professor Stein." Eddie's tapping stopped, pure surprise kicking his tone upward.

Savitar's eyes rolled so far back so quickly, his head hurt. Everything with Stein seemed to take altogether too long. He _had_ been oddly satisfied to hear about Caitlin's success with the old man's wife—maybe something of the Flash's my-mom-was-stabbed trauma was still glimmering inside, and the prevention of a similar meta-induced tragedy was a psychological salve of some kind. Maybe Caitlin was rubbing off on him more than he'd thought. Or maybe Barry Allen _wasn't_ quite so deeply buried within after all. But that didn't mean he was happy to hear the old man there in the Cortex just now. It was getting crowded enough already, and Savitar was missing the peace and quiet of a building used only by himself and one driven bioengineer. He didn't want to admit how much more correct it felt, listening to more than one voice coming from the base.

"Forgive me, gentlemen, I left a few items here during the past week—have either of you seen Doctor Snow?"

"She's uh, downstairs," Wally replied distractedly.

"In the Pipeline," Eddie added. "I can walk you—"

"Hold up, what if I wanna see this place too?" West protested.

"I don't have time for this." Savitar switched off the earpiece. _Not what the comms are for._

A superpowered race around the street and surrounding buildings told him Linda Park had gone dark. Maybe she'd had some safe spot located all along, and when she'd gotten too tired, she'd bowed out. Or maybe her powers had malfunctioned, and such exhaustive use had caused her to completely whisk out of existence. Either way, he didn't see the sense in wasting more energy on this particular case. She wasn't messing with the police any longer—or _him_ for that matter—and she was no longer available to play tag. He might as well call it a day. A frustrating, sweaty day. Running back and forth across the same short distance worked him up a bit faster than running long ones did.

It was calorie time, anyway, and the sooner he returned to S.T.A.R. Labs, the sooner Caitlin's Plus-Three would leave. Without a mission to jump onto, they didn't really have another reason to be there—apart from West, who, thankfully, still wasn't getting anywhere with the breach machine, though he was as determined as ever to fix it. Stein should be checked out soon too, considering he was only there to pick up his mess.

But when he entered the Cortex a good twenty minutes later—after a couple dozen Big Belly Burgers—costume on and hood remaining up, they were all still there.

Stein sat in one of the chairs behind the white winding desk now, with Wally gripping the back of it and Eddie standing beside it. The professor was pulling up a 3D model of the city section Savitar had just come from, still talking as the speedster came in.

"…several obvious points, from which she could make an easy escape," Stein was saying, pointing to a few rooftops and enhancing the details with a few clicks. He barely batted an eye, turning to Savitar after the initial _whoosh_ of entry. "I assume your speed and suit allow you to scale taller structures? Run up the sides?" Without waiting for an answer, he went back to the screen. "However, without prior knowledge of her location, you couldn't have made it up before she transported herself to the ground below—thereby securing her own safety. You see?"

"Okay, so she could've just gotten a bird's-eye view and—" Wally snapped his fingers. "She gone?"

"In theory," Stein agreed. "This is only one possible outcome, and _only_ if she did take this path out of that particular street. There are other ways. Infinite ones, really, considering the extent of her abilities even as we know them."

Savitar shook his head. He could speed each one of them out of the Labs, but what would be the point? His uptight companion from Earth-1 wouldn't be pleased, and they'd only be back the very next day. Instead he asked curtly, "Where's Caitlin?"

Eddie glanced up from the monitor, pulling a hand down from his hair. "I'm guessing still in the Pipeline." His tone was apologetic.

Savitar's eyebrows dipped. "What's she doing?"

"Feeding the psychos," Wally explained.

"I beg your pardon?" Stein turned around in his chair, looking as though someone had just belched aloud.

West opened his mouth to explain, but Savitar cut him off, speaking quickly. "No, it never takes her this long. Why hasn't she come back yet?"

Stein looked at Eddie. Wally blinked a few times, looking perplexed.

"I'm not su—" Eddie began, but the speedster was gone from the room before he could finish.

 _FWOOSH!_

Savitar's trip to the Pipeline kicked up an enormous cloud of dust with every charged step as he ran. He went first to Snart's cell. She wasn't there—and the glass was exposed, the hangar left open.

"No." It was a very quiet, very stone-like audible response to the scene. It barely echoed in the empty chamber.

Savitar felt something cold slide over his chest—not quite shock. Not quite anger. Like fear, but sicker. A different kind of fear than he'd felt when the paradox had threatened to wipe him out. He remembered Barry being swamped by it often, almost uncontrollably, like the sensation of vomiting when you came down with the flu. The original Flash would feel it all over when it came, making every limb weak, no real thought aside from the desperation to quell it. It was a fear that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with someone else. How, then, Savitar wondered, could it feel stronger?

Not bothering to use his speed, he stepped over and checked the palm scanner, pressing a few buttons on the side to observe its history. Caitlin's palm had been used just about an hour ago, but she hadn't shifted the glass wall to enter the cell. However Lisa had escaped, it wasn't because Caitlin had set her free. In fact, the food trolley was left untouched beside the scanner.

 _Snart didn't touch her._ There was zero sign of a struggle, and he didn't go near the cell itself to investigate. Lisa was hardly the most dangerous player they'd locked up here, and if the glass hadn't even been lifted, there was no way Snart could have attacked someone on the other side. Perhaps he should have taken a closer look, but the sight of an empty prison reminded him that there were worse villains in this same level of the Labs, and he dashed from Lisa's cell.

Savitar headed straight for Nimbus', trying to ignore flickers of that same cold, settling heavier and heavier as he ran.

Nimbus was not in his cell.

The hangar door was open.

So was the glass.

 _He didn't get her._ Savitar couldn't smell anything even close to the poison Nimbus became when on the offensive, and didn't bother checking what time Caitlin had opened both barriers here. What he _could_ smell was acid. He recognized the scent; he'd used plenty of different acids when cleaning his metal armor throughout the ages. A suit like that needed obsessive upkeep if it was going to work properly for so long. Without a nitpicky Cisco Ramon to take care of it, he'd had to be disciplined.

There was a yawning hole in the floor of Nimbus' prison.

The cold feeling expanded; he could feel it in his very heartbeat. He threw off the hood of his costume, stooping over the tunnel entrance. Too dark to see how far the initial drop was. Where had Kyle Nimbus obtained acid? Had Caitlin simply gone right down there after him? She wasn't that stupid. She would have called him first. Something had happened in this room, and he could think of only one way to find out what as quickly as possible.

Savitar was back in the Cortex in seconds. His hood was still down, face exposed to the three men _still_ gathered in their base of operations. "Caitlin's missing," he announced, wondering suddenly if his voice had always sounded that rough and short.

They all stood there for too long, staring at him, probably taking in the sight of a human head and features to fit the voice, no vibrating vocal chords, no mask involved. Savitar didn't care. He didn't _have_ another identity. This was it. And it didn't matter anymore that they could see him—nothing mattered now apart from finding Caitlin Snow.

Unfortunately, they didn't seem to see things the same way. As usual.

"You're… _younger_ than I thought," Eddie said at last, eyebrows pinched.

Wally appeared especially interested, lifting a feeble underhand to point at him. "I know you," he said slowly, finger bobbing a little. "I've met you."

Savitar's voice rose; he could _hear_ the cold, that new fear, running down his tone like raindrops on a window. "You're not hearing me—"

Stein held a hand out in West's direction, standing. "You said Doctor Snow is missing," he said stiffly. "What do you mean, _missing_?"

"Are we sure she didn't just go out for a bit?" Eddie added, eyes still glued to Savitar's civilian form. "I mean, she's not under house arrest, is she?"

Savitar went to the nearest monitor, shouldering Eddie out of his way and retrieving the security footage for the Pipeline in the past hour. After a rapid series of clicks and the tapping of keys, the same images were displayed on every screen in the Cortex. Savitar stood, arms limp apart from a hand on the trackpad, driving the video forward until Caitlin's blurred figure entered Nimbus' cell, fast-forwarding through her discovery of Snart's flight. He must have gone right past Kyle and Lisa's actual escape; he clicked so far ahead on the timeline. That didn't matter either.

All four men watched as Caitlin shakily opened both hangar door and glass wall, inspecting the hole for herself. Savitar could see her knuckles grip the sides of the tunnel edges until they went white. She wasn't turned toward the cameras, but she didn't have to be—she would be biting her lip, eyes huge as they dutifully combed the scene, trying to resurrect information on her own.

"In the corner," Eddie's voice was sharp and all-business as he pointed to the edge of the picture.

There was another figure slipping into view, silent and lanky. Savitar felt his chest bend and tighten and clench in on itself—instant fury, instant enmity. Red was spiking and darting around the shores of his vision. The intruder was dressed comically, with a doll's mask and soundless steps as he advanced upon Caitlin.

 _Sometimes I even dream I'm being chased by dolls._ She'd told him that, the first night she'd caught him with nightmares here. The red splashed further, looking at the tall, twisting stranger leering at her. Savitar's jaw worked until it ached.

The team in the Cortex didn't speak, glued to the footage. The man was _playing_ with her. He moved as if both muscles and spine were nothing but putty, able to morph into any shape, not simply a series of lines but one big curve in all directions.

"It's him," Eddie breathed, listening to the man's cheery English monologue. "This is the guy she was talking about. The leader."

"Leader?" Stein echoed, shooting Eddie a glance that said he resented not having the most knowledge in the room for once.

"Of the metahumans."

"How many?" Wally demanded. "Rory?"

Eddie nodded. "Rory. Snart too. Caitlin was right. He's probably got others, they could be more dang—"

"There!" Stein shouted, waving a hand again, this time at both Eddie and Wally. His eyes were practically aflame. "Nimbus. He said it. The man who attacked Clarissa, they're in league with one another. Is he himself a metahuman? Are they all—"

"Stop." Savitar thudded out. He only had to say it once. The Cortex was quiet again, apart from the low voices coming from the security footage.

The more the stranger spoke onscreen, the less Savitar felt he could breathe. _Park._ Linda Park had been a set-up. It was all to keep him _occupied_ while this man came right into the heart of their lives here on Earth-66, right into S.T.A.R. Labs itself and freed their prisoners. Came in and found Caitlin. He could have blown the Labs apart and Savitar would have been indifferent. The only thing in this entire alternate Earth that _mattered_ was the one thing this creature had to take.

Behind him, Wally shuffled to the white winding desk, picking up Caitlin's Bluetooth device. He didn't speak, but Eddie, Stein, and Savitar all gave it a look each. The speedster pictured his friend carefully depositing the earpiece on the countertop before leaving for the Pipeline, oblivious to the danger waiting in the level below this one. Why did she leave them here? _Why_ would she take them off? How could she be so stupid? Swallowing, his eyes returned to the mounted wall screen.

Savitar's head began shaking when Caitlin asked the man what he wanted, and it simply wagged harder and harder as seconds went by. A spray can, a drug of some kind, Caitlin reaching for her necklace—she didn't get the chance—and then the man picked her up effortlessly, scrawny as he was. He carried her carelessly, like a _sack_ , actually slung over his shoulder. The red was all-encompassing.

Then they were gone, and the room was as empty as ever.

Silence filled the Cortex. Savitar snatched the Bluetooth earpiece out of Wally's hand quick as blinking, tossing it onto a nearby chair. It was useless now. Had it ever been much help, really? When it _really_ mattered? Eddie had both hands in his hair now, and West was outright pacing.

Stein remained standing tall and calm, but his jaw was tightened as he spoke. "This explains why we couldn't find Miss Park," he ground through almost-clenched teeth. "That man disappeared beneath the surface of this structure. He contacted her before he left, ergo she must have retreated to the same area. I suppose Harrison Wells never designed your system for underground tracking."

The speedster hardly heard him. He had already come to that conclusion, nearly subconsciously, while the video had played. It _didn't matter_. None of this information could find Caitlin. _Caitlin_. She had left her earpiece upstairs and had been _taken_ by a man in a doll's clothes. And where had he been?

Wally was watching him. "Savitar?" His voice was muted. Careful.

Eddie and Stein turned toward the former God of Speed. He could feel their eyes on him. That, too, was inconsequential.

Savitar's eyes remained fixed on the screen. He knew there was nothing to watch anymore, but the sight of the hole in the cell, the sight of the empty Pipeline—it was like the scene itself were laughing at him. He remembered this feeling, this Barry Allen sense of choking, the cold just eating at him. He'd thought—he'd _known_ —he would never have to feel it again. And then Caitlin Snow came along and ruined everything. Where was she to revel in her handiwork? Where had he _been_?

"It was all a _trap_." He spat the word, picking up the nearest wireless trackpad and flinging it into the right-hand wall monitor. The screen cracked, smack in the center, showering a handful of sparks down as the trackpad crashed to the floor. The cold feeling didn't subside, and neither did the red, but it still felt good to break something.

"It's not over yet, man," Wally began in slightly shaking tones, but Savitar turned on him.

"He knew I was gone, he _knew_ she was down there!" Savitar used one arm to point stabbingly at the broken monitor, as if the footage were still playing on it. "You were _all_ here! _I_ could've been here! But all he had to do—"

Eddie interrupted him with the voice he doubtless used for people about to jump out a window, but he clearly didn't need a megaphone. He didn't flinch at the aggression either, instead taking a few steps closer. "Wally's right. We can fix this."

Savitar didn't respond. He barely looked at any of them. He was too busy, mind whirling, flashing to the computers at the white winding desk and zipping from keyboard to keyboard, searching for schematics of the city's underbelly. Even the maps sewer workers used seemed either outdated or lacking in detail. None of this gave him a definite clue as to where Caitlin had been taken to. Really, according to these images, she could be anywhere. Including _out_ of Central City.

"I'm getting her back."

"There's no doubt we have to act quickly." Stein moved to the other side of the desk, paralleling Savitar. "But not without a plan. We've no idea what this man wants, or how much he knows. He may be expecting you at every corner. If you go racing down the nearest tunnel, you may take a wrong turn and choke on Nimbus—"

"Or get torched by Rory," added Wally, picking up the trackpad and dropping it on Caitlin's worktable against the wall, not being very gentle. "He's got all kinds of freaks with him."

"If we can figure out _exactly_ where they are, figure out the safest way to get there, it'll save you time." Eddie sat down in the chair beside the speedster, reaching for the keys.

"Get out."

They just stared at him. Savitar heard his own heartbeat in his ears. Weren't they listening? There wasn't time for this. There wasn't time for anything. How long had he been waiting to throw them out of here? How many times had he said this, in how many ways? Didn't they understand, now more than ever?

"I don't want you here, Thawne." Savitar turned from the detective to the professor. "Or you." Glared at Wally. "Or you, or any of you. Caitlin did. I don't need your help—I don't need your skills— _get._ _Out_."

"I'm afraid Caitlin is precisely the reason the three of us are here in the first place," Stein countered. "Doctor Snow has committed to helping each of us, as I understand it, and I for one owe her a debt that has yet to be repaid. I can think of no better way to do it than rescuing her from whatever monster has control over this city's largest criminals."

"It's our turn to help her," Eddie agreed, rigid in his seat. "She needs all the help she can get. If we catch this guy, we catch all of them. Rory, Nimbus, Snart, the city's safer when we're done. We're not going anywhere, Savitar."

"You'll slow me down." Savitar returned to the monitor.

"No, man." Wally scoffed. "We'll speed things up."

Savitar's eyes darted up to strike the boy, mouth open to rebuke him, but the look on Wally's face made him pause, just for a moment. Iris' steel was in those big brown eyes, the steel that made Barry Allen shut up and listen. Joe's matter-of-fact tone, the voice of reason, the wisest in the room. It had been a very long time since a West told him what to do.

"You go down there alone, you gonna get yourself killed," Wally went on steadily. "And then what? Caitlin's stuck. Cuz you were too busy playing God to swallow your pride, do the smart thing." He shook his head, chin tilted up. "Yeah, you need us." West held up both palms. "You got an extra pair of hands, the CCPD's best detective, a freakin' genius with _way_ too many PhDs—"

"Five," Stein grunted, adjusting his glasses.

"—you're not gonna use all that? Come on. We can get the job done faster if we work together." Wally held out a hand. "You're not the only one who cares about Caitlin in here. Let us help you."

Savitar stared at Wally's outstretched hand. Stein's were behind his back, and Eddie's were gripping the arms of his chair. _Work together_. The only person he had ever technically worked together with was trapped in the sewers somewhere. If that was all he had to go on in the way of teamwork, Caitlin had been right. He was in good hands.

For a second, looking at those three nervous, determined people immovable around him, all he could see was Team Flash. The _future_ Team Flash, Team Flash-2024. Looking at him as if he were a particularly poor drawing of Barry Allen instead of the exact copy of the real thing, standing there pleading with them to really see him. To want him.

But he blinked and the vision disappeared. Instead, _he_ really saw _them_. An engineer's apprentice who took his advice, a cop who had saved him from Nimbus, an old teacher who called him a hero. He didn't have anyone else. And somewhere beneath the cold fear stretching in Caitlin's favor, past the red clouding his gaze, shoving aside the images of 2024's rejections, he wanted them. He wanted people who depended on him, yes, but not the way he had when he'd tried being a god. People who depended on him—and people he could depend on in return. These weren't acolytes, and they weren't Team Flash of 2024. They were something new. Something that could be just his, Savitar's. Not Barry Allen's. If he was willing to try.

He _had_ promised Caitlin one chance.

Refusing to waste any more time, Savitar took Wally's hand.

There was a general murmur of relief. Wally beamed at him, Iris' smile and Joe's firm grip, but the warmth was all his own. "Okay, let's do this," the boy chortled.

Savitar was firm and quick where Barry would have been meaningful and repetitive in his instructions. He went around to the other side of the desk, talking as he walked and the others moved into position. "Wally, you're on comms with Stein. Professor," he added, nodding to the older man, "I need a map of the sewers. A helpful one. Detective—"

Just then, every monitor, every speaker system in S.T.A.R. Labs burst into life. Wally's chair slid backward, and Stein's head snapped toward the remaining wall monitor. Savitar could almost feel his nails digging into his palms through the suit; he recognized the same English accent from the Pipeline footage.

On the screen was the mystery man, zero mask this time, blonde, thin, and not at all familiar.

"Good evening, Savitar!"

"How's he know your name?" Wally demanded, glancing from the speedster to the screen.

"It's not exactly _evening_ ," Stein muttered, narrowing his eyes at the video. "Perhaps a different time zone?"

Savitar didn't know, and he didn't care. This was a one-way live call—he could tell from the watermark in the corner of the screen. They couldn't rewind if they missed anything. And they couldn't talk back.

"I know this guy," Eddie murmured. "I've seen him somewhere before."

The man was chattering away, oblivious to the team talking over him. "You are home by now, aren't you? We haven't formally met, I'm afraid, which is fine because I have a feeling it won't be that way for long."

Behind him, the speedster heard Stein hit a few keys. Eddie caught his eye and mouthed _recording_. A trickle of comfort made its way down the base of Savitar's mind. Having a full team really had been something he'd missed.

"Not once you see who came to visit me, anyway."

Savitar saw the camera—which hardly shook at all in its owner's nimble hands—point over the man's shoulder. He couldn't tell where this was being taken. Wherever it was, it was pitch-black dark, apart from the light of the man's phone shining out as he filmed.

Then a flicker of white-blue, artificial light lit up a beaten old phone booth behind the enemy. Inside, past heavily marked glass and an iron pole smashed into the center of the floor, was Caitlin. The light only flickered for a second, but to a speedster, it could have been an hour. Savitar's head pounded, meeting dark brown eyes he knew couldn't actually see him in return. She was stiff, curled there on the ground. His eyes moved faster than anyone there could breathe. He saw the swollen ankle, four or five zip ties around her wrists, the chain keeping her from reaching her snowflake pendant. _She's hurt._ Had the intruder wounded her to keep her from getting away? There hadn't been a struggle on the security feed. This must have happened more recently than that.

He went on watching Caitlin as the video continued. The phone booth, the blackness in the background, the man's face and voice didn't seem to really exist. The only thing solid as far as he was concerned was the bioengineer in the corner, trying to look brave.

"Fancy a trip here? You've got…oh, look at that, I forgot to strap on my watch! Let's say twenty minutes. Should be enough time to track us down, eh?"

The video ended, and Savitar exhaled.

Eddie was behind the white winding desk, Wally coming around to join him, and in a few minutes their opposition's picture appeared on each monitor. He looked a little less thin in the photos, but his hair was the same, and so were his beady, unhealthily-bright eyes. It was some kind of poster he featured in.

"We don't have a lot of time," Eddie admitted, talking quickly. "But I knew he looked familiar. Name's Peter Merkel Jr., used to work as a contortionist at his dad's circus. A serious piece of work. Guy was charged with the murder of his castmates and family—and several dozen civilians—after he burned down their tent during a performance. We always assumed he died at the scene, though."

"Merkel," Wally repeated. "Yeah. Iris mentioned him once, I think."

"And that outfit he was wearing—when he got Caitlin—I've seen that before too." Eddie pulled up an old newspaper image of the same costume in some kind of shop, clearly taken from a security camera.

"Ah, yes," Stein grunted, scowling at the photo. "So have I. I remember the newscasters focusing on a particular series of elaborate heists a few years back. A figure dresses as an oversized rag doll, stealing his way through the East Side, as I recall."

Thawne let a hand fall against his side. "After the particle accelerator exploded here, he disappeared. Went completely off the grid. We never did catch him."

"We ought to remedy that," Stein mused. Eddie grinned at him.

Savitar heard all of this, but couldn't linger on it. He didn't want to move.

As soon as Caitlin was no longer onscreen, as soon as everything turned dark, a new wave of red made his throat hot and his muscles tight. It was everywhere. The last time he'd felt this way, he'd been on Infantino Street, looking into Barry's eyes, calling up every inch of pain and torture he'd suffered at the hands of his double. It had given him the roaring, wicked strength he'd needed to drive that metal spear through Iris West's back. Here, it made his hands shake and his sight dim. There was nothing like this rush of anger. Except it was stronger now, the way the cold fear had been stronger in the Pipeline.

Merkel had hurt her ankle. There was a chain around her wrists. She thought she needed to look strong. Caged in a phone booth in the dark.

Savitar didn't realize he was actually vibrating—all of him—until he saw his feet blur beneath him.

Eddie was just behind him, the detective's sharp voice cutting into the red, as if from far away, like he'd been talking for some time and was only at this moment getting close enough to be heard. "… _Savitar_ —we can track the call."

In a stretch of sickly yellow light, Savitar was beside Stein at the monitor. But it wasn't the professor who stepped up to take the controls. Thawne didn't even sit down, hands flying across the keys, using the trackpad only once or twice. The other three stood behind him, Savitar hungrily watching the screen change, change, and change again until a map and a beacon of a yellow circle folding in on itself in a loop pointed him home.

"Right below the center of the city," Stein announced aloud, thumb brushing his chin thoughtfully. "The security footage showed them leaving through their own manufactured exit in the Pipeline. You can use it to make your way to their location."

Savitar pulled on the hood of his suit, turning to flash down to the Pipeline, but the monitors erupted, humoring a new video call from Merkel.

"Hello hello hello!" The Rag Doll waved into the camera. This time there was no photo booth to be seen, nothing but Merkel's wax-like face. "Sorry, see, this is how I know I'm really dreadful at this—first I forget my watch, and now it seems I've forgotten to mention the _bomb_!"

"Bomb," Eddie repeated, lips barely moving. The word dropped into the air like a stone into a creek, disturbing any shred of calm they may have had on their side.

"Bomb, yes," Merkel replied, as if he could hear the detective. "Savvie, mate, I know I said twenty minutes, but I'm feeling rather gracious. Caity is awfully lovely—pretty girls always did have a bit of a sway over me, I admit it—perhaps she's rubbing off on me? I hear she's a marvelous influence. You'd know, though, wouldn't you?"

Savitar's breathing was heavy, as though something large and metal were sitting on his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie give him a warning glance. Wally was at his shoulder, not touching the speedster, but very solidly _there_ all the same. He wanted to feel better with them around, but even hearing Caitlin's name seemed to make the pounding in his head louder. It made the tension of the situation all the more real.

"Anyway, I think she'd like me to give you an hour, considering I mucked up and left the bit about the city-devastating explosive out last time we spoke." Merkel grinned. "Central City just isn't _afraid_ anymore with you around, is it, and I can't have that! So I think half of downtown being burned alive is honestly the best way to go. Don't you? An hour'll do. An hour before burning begins, and I do mean burning _everything_ on this side, Savitar, as in Caity too, you know."

Stein was checking the location of the feed, but as there wasn't much clicking or tapping behind him, Savitar could only assume Merkel was in the same spot as he had been from the beginning.

"Best of luck and all that. Really. Sincerely."

Blackness consumed the screen, and Wally was the first to break the silence this time.

"Okay, we got this. Right? I'm on the comms. Me and Stein'll tell you where to go." The boy took a seat beside the professor and the two began copying Stein's tracker on each monitor.

Savitar nodded, once. He wasn't sure what he'd say if he tried to speak. _Thank you_ felt a little premature. And time-wasting, at this point. He was almost to the exit when the detective stopped him.

Eddie had his gun out. "I'm going with you."

Savitar shook his head. "No."

"You're gonna need backup, and I have the training to disarm—"

"Not underground," Savitar interrupted, raising a hand to shut him up. "Follow me from up here, Detective. _Stop_ talking," he added as Eddie opened his mouth to object, "and listen. I need you above us so that when I get her out, I have someone to get her away from the city if the bomb blows." He paused, and then jerked his chin a little carelessly toward Stein and Wally. "Them too. If there's time."

"Touching," Stein commented dryly, not looking up from the screen.

"Y'all know this is a trap, right?" Wally cleared his throat, pointing to the ceiling as though gesturing to the situation in its entirety.

Eddie and Savitar nodded simultaneously. Stein did glance around, palms open. "Obviously."

"Okay. Just figured somebody had to say it, you know—out loud."

"I'm not worried." Savitar felt the Speed Force charge behind his eyes, felt the red boiling up within him again, preparing to dash down to the Pipeline and into the city's underbelly. "You can't trap a god."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: Shhhh, ScareBare, you're not really a god, don't be such a drama-llama. Let's hear those reviews, J-Squares! I'm so ready. Next chapter coming soon! ~Doverstar)**


	39. Chapter 39: Sinker

**(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Jell-O Squares, we have two chapters and an epilogue left of this thing. Thank you, thank you, thank for reading! Keep those stellar reviews coming! Almost done!** **~Doverstar)**

* * *

Peter Merkel Jr. was never enough.

Or rather, he had never been enough for everyone _else._ Especially dear old dad.

Peter Merkel _Senior_ was a talentless man, preying on the abilities of others. If he couldn't be something extraordinary himself, he would exploit extraordinary people and get the same results. Twice as quickly. So naturally, he owned a circus.

His son had displayed an uncanny flexibility, and the moment Mr. Merkel discovered this—when the boy was the clearly-capable age of five—he began paying for the best training he could possibly find in downtown Central City. Junior was going to be a contortionist, a soft pretzel of a person, one more act in his father's growing freak show.

Merkel Senior controlled everything in Peter's life. Absolutely everything, from the earliest memory the Rag Doll could call upon. What he wore, what he ate, in which position he slept—this varied, depending on what bending tricks the boy had fumbled in the performance the day before—every single detail was predetermined. As Peter got older, contortion simply wasn't drawing the crowds the way it had when he was still in elementary school (if he'd been allowed to attend elementary school). So his father had taught him knife-throwing, a new trick to add to Peter's bag.

It wasn't that Peter had always wanted to _please_ his father, and somehow never seemed to measure up. He didn't really have a choice. It was either satisfy daddy or go to bed with a fresh new nick from their practice knife at the end of every day. And Peter had collected an awful lot of nicks over time.

His father had demanded he climb higher than the highest acts in the show. He demanded he throw harder than any specialist in the blade demonstrations. That Peter move faster, stretch farther, and aim more accurately than anyone in the city, anyone in the _country_ could claim. If Merkel Senior was disappointed, he made sure his son knew about it.

"He was _always_ in control," Rag Doll sighed. He was crouching like a large, twig-limbed bird on the iron bannister of the tallest platform in his underground cavern. The platform on which Caitlin's phone booth was precariously sitting. "Complete control freak, absolutely ghastly."

The girl on the other side of the glass was watching him, but it wasn't with much fear, to his disappointment. More like contempt, and her mouth was pulled into an extremely tight line, as if he were a toddler refusing to hear Mummy when she called him inside.

He was starting to think she'd stopped listening to him, the way her expression remained closed and hostile, and that wasn't much fun, so he added with a pinch of disapproval, "D'you know, from what I've seen on S.T.A.R. Labs TV down there, I rather think you know all about being a control freak, don't you, Caity?"

She actually rolled her _eyes_ at him. Not an exaggerated, slow roll, but the kind people executed by looking away. That was just mean. And she wasn't doing very much talking, so perhaps she was ignoring him, which wasn't allowed.

Without a change in demeanor and quick as scratching an itch, Peter gripped the rail with both hands, curled his legs tight into his chest, and backflipped underneath the iron bar. When he came out from beneath it, he used both feet to kick the phone booth with the strength of a jackrabbit.

Punctuated with an almighty crash, the booth rocked in place, teetering into the rail opposite the Rag Doll. Leaning like the Eiffel Tower against it. Inside, Caitlin tumbled against the west side's wall, head bumping against the glass. To Peter's delight—he loved a bonus—her wounded ankle smacked against the rusty bar in the center, the one she was chained to.

But she didn't cry out.

"Oh, go _on_ , that hurt!" He sprang onto the toppled booth and sat cross-legged, parallel to where she lay winded. "Do I have to do it again? No one buys a bird that can't sing."

Miss Snow rolled onto her back, glaring up at him.

Peter scowled. "A stubborn control freak, then. Look at you! Caity's just on top of it all! The strong, independent female. Always in the know. Telling Savvie where to go and who to be, can't even let the man _think_ for himself. Why, if he did, he might not do it the right way! Eh? Can't have that. Best make him do it your way than give him the chance to work it out without you."

Caitlin scooted to a cautious sitting position, sliding the sprained ankle underneath one leg. Her voice was hard. "Yes, I get it. You've been watching us. But it doesn't matter. You can know everything there is to know about him, and he will _still_ beat you."

"Underestimating me now?" Peter snorted. "Really—you'd've got on famously with Daddy." He slid off of the phone booth and righted it, watching her shift and shuffle to land back on the proper floor of the thing without too much damage. "He bossed about an entire circus of people, Caity. Kept saying no one had better ideas than he did." He pointed both thumbs toward his chest. "I did, though! I thought, _he would look so much better if he were on fire_ , and you know what?"

Peter stood on one leg and pulled the other over a shoulder, stretching out, relishing the exercise. He twisted his head around to catch Snow's eye; she was watching him with something like disgust. Most women had the same reaction.

"He absolutely did! His hands caught first, if memory serves; made his arms look bigger when they were gone, and what man doesn't want large arms?"

"You're sick." Caitlin shook her head at him, head rearing.

"Sticks and stones."

The light in the phone booth zapped and flickered, and Peter climbed down a ladder to a lower platform, retrieving an old oil lamp and returning to light it.

"That's better. He'll be able to see you now. If he gets here." The Rag Doll pulled out his phone—he always kept it in his breastpocket—and checked the time. "Taking his time, isn't he, your friend?"

"He'll be here."

Blimey, she liked to snarl.

Peter slid his phone back into place. "Such confidence. But you're clever. You know this is a trap. You know he'll have to meet me before he's danced one step with my pretty bomb. Out of time!"

"Savitar is the fastest man alive," Caitlin countered. "You think he can't disarm a bomb in time?"

"I _think_ you'll be surprised." Rag Doll smiled brightly. "Ah, you're cute when you smirk like that, your nose gets all wrinkly!"

She looked as if a skunk had just walked by. You win some, you lose some.

Peter went on, hopping back up onto the bannister and swinging a leg to and fro. "You're right, I hope. He'll find us. And I'll be waiting, and you get to _watch_! Best view in the house." He picked up his doll mask, fiddling with the red wig, preening. "And when I kill him, all that confidence will go spilling down the drain. You _will_ scream, won't you? Do promise you'll scream. I mean, a bad foot's one thing, but losing your big brooding hero, that's got to do the job. It just won't be the right _mood_ if you're Miss Independence up here when it happens." He shrugged. "Daddy didn't scream when I burned him. He never did do anything just for me."

With a finger, he mimed a tear tricking down his cheek, pouting at her. When she didn't react, the Rag Doll flipped both legs over to the other side of the railing and swiveled around, facing the large drop between himself and the cement ground far beneath them.

"Sparky, do us a favor, will you?"

Mick Rory started, springing from his seat on the wooden crate beside the telly. He looked up at the platform with glittering, beady eyes.

"Play guard dog. South tunnel. And don't forget to give him the gift we wrapped!"

Rory growled—eloquent for him, honestly—and stood, moving toward the nearest tunnel, gift in tow.

"All this talk of burning has made me very, very nostalgic and I want Savvie smelling of smoke when he pops in. Make sure he still has both feet, though, I don't want this to be _too_ easy. The rest doesn't matter to me. Actually, hang on, manners—" Rag Doll glanced back at the phone booth, jabbing his head toward Rory. "Caity, what do you like? His hair? You like his hair, yes? Mick, spare his feet _and_ his hair, there's a good man!" He beamed at Snow. "I can be nice."

Caitlin shook her head at him. She looked disbelieving. Ungrateful. How did Savitar put up with her? Day in and day out, it must be like having an anxious little nursemaid simpering after you. Merkel wondered, briefly, what _she_ would look like on fire. Probably not as satisfying as he was imagining. Some other end, then, maybe something with water? Or ice, that would be poetic. Slow frostbite. She'd scream then.

"Why would you blow up half of Central City?"

At last! She was curious.

The Rag Doll glanced back at the prisoner, his head moving almost completely around, much like an owl's. "What's the best way to control people, Caity?" He didn't give her a chance to guess. "Fear! Fear makes us all do simply ridiculous things. Every time. Lovely Lisa and the semi, Nimbus and the restaurants, Rory and the dear old CCPD—I am creating a rather unhealthy appetite for fear in our fair town. My father controlled every little inch of my existence from the moment I was born. Joke's on him, though, because _I_ will be the one in control soon." It felt good to say it aloud. It felt glorious. "And I shan't be running a filthy circus tent, no, I'll be in charge of an entire city and I'll never even have to leave my fortified-albeit-smelly kingdom down here!"

"Savitar won't let that happen." There was a deep loathing on her face. That was fine. Expected, even. Well, he hadn't wanted a standing ovation anyway. Not that she could really stand, in her position. Perhaps he shouldn't have sprained her ankle on the way in; it made her a boring audience.

"We'll see, won't we? If I take out half the city, it'll be, shall we say, the final straw to break the camel's back. And I didn't just fashion this place because it was prime real estate, by the way." He snapped his fingers. "I picked it because it was the best place to plant my bomb. The remaining half of Central City will be as ants, running about with their hill kicked in, easy pickings. Crime in all its extremely-entertaining glory will be child's play. Trouble is, your running man keeps spoiling my fun." He turned fully around, pulling out his knife and flipping it a few times. She didn't seem impressed. "So I'll need to take care of him first. I think slitting the throat may be too quick—get it? Too _quick_? No? Perhaps in the heart? Or between the ribs? Oh, never mind."

Peter began descending the platform, giving Caitlin one last grin as he went.

She seemed to be having difficulty breathing. Her chest heaved, and he could plainly see the whites of her eyes. Eyes glued to the knife in his hand. And he wasn't even threatening _her_. She would absolutely scream when the time came. At least some things could always be counted on. Her speedster didn't even deserve it! _It's true what they say. The little things in life are the sweetest._ That panicked, glassy expression she was carrying, for example.

He pointed at it with his blade, elated.

"Look at that face! Frightened at long last, I should think! I'd say he wouldn't feel a thing, but Caity, I can't lie to you now, not after all we've already been through together. Haven't decided how yet, but whichever way I kill him, upon my honor…" The Rag Doll strapped on the mask and wig. This time, the eyes in the plastic face cast an electronic, red glow. "It will really, _really_ hurt."

* * *

Savitar's lair, back on Earth-1, had been dark and cold and messy.

But hadn't been in the _sewer_.

For obvious reasons. He may have been a time remnant, far from being a god yet, but he was human enough, still, to want to avoid living somewhere that smelled like rat vomit. He didn't feel the cold in his lair, though he knew it was there. Here, even what passed for liquid simply _looked_ frigid, though he didn't go anywhere near it. He'd relished the dark, but that wasn't to say he hadn't installed at least one or two light fixtures in the place. He needed to see in order to preform maintenance on his armor. The tunnel system beneath Central City had zero artificial light. The only reason Savitar wasn't racing past sludge blindly was because Ramon had installed night vision in his suit's hood. It was probably a prototype for the suit Barry had yet to don—the brighter red one, though Cisco might not be making it quite as soon now that the timeline had been altered. Savitar was possibly the only person alive who knew what it would look like. Still, every time he turned a corner, he expected to slam at superpowered speed into a concrete wall. Even with night vision everything looked black.

As for the mess—it was the sewer. Details are not necessary.

He sped through tunnel after tunnel, always waiting for an opening, a sign of some kind. Some change in scenery. The faster he ran, the sicker he felt. Moving faster than any living thing had always been a freeing experience. Today every step was inadequate. It was almost as though he were in a dream, and though he knew he was running, he never really _got_ anywhere. He could be going supersonic and still be too slow. Each new awning was a disappointment. He was no closer to finding Caitlin, and every time he entered a different tunnel, with zero results, he was that much more nauseous. Running that much faster.

In his ear, Professor Stein suddenly barked, "Stop!"

Savitar slid to a halt, boots of his costume halfway squeaking on the cement. He tapped the comms. "What is it?"

"You're just rushing around in a kind of crooked circle." Stein sounded clipped with frustration. "The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, Savitar. Or at least a _semi_ -straight line. There's no sense in blindly running down every stray path."

"We don't have time."

"Agreed, which is why you ought to take the smartest route. We know they're underground, we know they're in the very center of the city—"

"Interrupting me isn't getting us any closer. Until you find a map," Savitar puffed, trying to control the bite in his tone, "this is the fastest way."

"Not necessarily," argued Stein. "Use your instincts! Take a moment and listen, look around. The human race was given eyes and ears for a reason, you know. I'd imagine someone who frequently uses those tunnels as passage would leave _something_ behind, however unintentionally."

Savitar inhaled through his nose, digging for control. He'd convinced generations that he was the first speedster. He'd outwitted Barry and friends for months, before H.R. had pulled the rug out from underneath him. He had all of Barry's genius and twice as much cunning. He shouldn't need Stein in his ear, reminding him to stop and think. But back then, there hadn't been Caitlin. There hadn't been anyone. Just him, running through time, blipping in and out of the Speed Force and recruiting pawns that hadn't meant anything. Now he had someone to look for, to look after, and the thought that he wouldn't get there before the hour was up had made him careless.

The speedster nodded slightly at Stein's words and scoffed. "Too bad there aren't any mile signs down here," he croaked. " _Evil Lair, Next Right_."

"He got jokes," Wally snorted in the background somewhere.

"Yes," Stein agreed wryly. "Though I think you might've noticed a mile sign by now, instincts or no instincts."

Savitar could hear the clicking of keys; West was evidently still trying to pull up a schematic of the tunnels. They could see two blinking points onscreen—Savitar's, a bright green dot, and Merkel's hideout, a wide yellow circle that looped in on itself. While they had been able to trace Merkel's call to the center of Central City, the map their system used was a bird's-eye view of downtown, not of the inner workings of the sewer structure. It shouldn't have been difficult to find the right map, even if it had been outdated. But there was nothing.

"I suspect our flexible friend had something to do with the lack of underground diagrams," Stein had admitted when Savitar had first entered the tunnel in Nimbus' cell. "He seems to have thought of everything else."

Savitar took another slow breath, glancing around.

The ground was slimy, but there wasn't so much filth that it would leave footprints. He doubted that the Rag Doll would leave much of a trace for fear of being followed—he'd kept himself hidden for the past three or four years, apparently. But the speedster examined the wall on his left all the same. When Grodd had hidden in the sewers, if memory served, he had used the walls to write what he knew, slowly getting wiser, a sort of trail of breadcrumbs for himself. But there was no graffiti here.

Then he saw scorch marks.

Savitar ran a gloved finger over the nearest smudge. It came off, darker than his suit's color. Barely noticeable, just little flecks of smoky black, parallel to his elbow, continued down the wall. Mick Rory wouldn't need a flashlight, coming down here. He was made of light; he'd use fire to guide him and prevent stumbling into the river of muck on the right.

"Got it," he breathed into the comms.

In the next instant, he was running again, always keeping one eye on the scorch stains as he went.

"Yes, that's it!" Stein was cheering. "You're approximately one mile from the goal."

One mile was six minutes to a speedster. By now the scorch marks were the only things he could see, everything else blurring, as though he were running through a cloud of black paint that had just been released into clear water. He felt his feet were barely touching the ground, and the Speed Force's energy whirled around him, bright white and electric. A familiar rush started shoving his anxiety backward.

Then a wall of fire burst into his path.

Had he stopped, Savitar would have slid right into the flames. But he didn't stop—he ran through it, with barely a flicker clinging to him. His suit was an almost exact copy of Barry Allen's, made with the same material firefighters used. The attack would have to be hotter, the flames much brighter than that, to tear through.

Still, it made his skin flare more than it should have, and he ran a bit harder, shutting his eyes for a moment.

Another blast, even larger this time, followed him. Finally, Savitar quit running, feeling the heat rush against his back and losing energy, dying just before it reached him.

Mick Rory stood a few feet away, tossing something large and metal—a flamethrower, it seemed—to the ground beside him. He replaced it with his own brand, holding a flame in each hand. The dual glow illuminated a wide, mad grin. "Welcome to the jungle, Freakshow!" he rumbled.

Savitar rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for this."

He darted toward Rory, but unlike their previous skirmishes, today meta was ready. The first fireball missed his head, but while the speedster ducked, the second burst against his chest. The flame wasn't high, and Savitar's suit easily resisted it.

He narrowed his eyes at Heat Wave. "Don't make me dunk you in that." Savitar jerked his head toward the river of sludge beside them.

Rory flat-out spat on the ground, shrugging. "I don't get to take your legs. Didn't say anything about the face."

The stocky meta seemed to have an unending supply of fuel. Twice Savitar tried to turn and keep going, get to Caitlin, he was _so close_ , and twice fire slashed and writhed against his back for it. Mick threw early, and he threw small, blazingly-powerful bursts. The flames must have gone right past blue and into clear white, because Savitar could feel them eating through his costume.

"What's happening?" Wally's voice sliced through as Savitar dropped and rolled.

"Rory," Savitar gasped, standing. "He wants to play."

"There isn't time!" Stein practically shouted. "The bravado can wait. You have exactly forty-five minutes to rescue Miss Snow and disarm the bomb. Your adversary is stalling. He's there to weaken you!"

Not bothering to do it at super speed, Savitar met Mick's eyes, examined his sneer and the elaborate, heavy way he breathed. This man had caused enough trouble. He'd been in and out of S.T.A.R Labs, helping Nimbus gas Caitlin on his way out, he'd reduced the entire CCPD headquarters to a pile of ash, and was—now that Savitar knew how to get where he needed to be—the only thing still sitting between the speedster and his goal.

He could kill the pyro. He could drown him in the waste, he could snap his neck. He could do almost anything, really. And then he wouldn't have to deal with this. Then he could save Caitlin.

Rory seemed to see the wheels turning. "What's wrong, Speedy? I thought gods liked showing off." He summoned another blast.

"Ignore him." Wally's tone was the hardest Savitar had heard it on this Earth. Almost icy. "You can't mess around right now."

Wally.

He _could_ kill Rory. He'd never have to see that wild grin again. A punishment for getting in his way. But the meta had something else to answer for first.

"Then I won't mess around."

Mick Rory seemed frozen in time as Savitar zapped toward him, ramming his entire body into the pyro, throwing in a few satisfying punches, just because it felt good. He stopped with his feet firmly planted, arms drawn in. In slow motion, he watched his enemy fly backward, the fire already dancing in one hand shooting toward the tunnel roof, painting the ceiling with one big scorch mark. Harmless.

Just as Rory's heels slipped from the concrete, body flailing over the river of muck behind him, Savitar grabbed him by the collar and ran back, back the way he'd come.

"Where're you going?" Wally cried, with the sound of a chair rolling across the floor of the Cortex. "That's the wrong way!"

Savitar didn't respond, the sights and smells of the sewer whizzing by as he made it to the nearest manhole. He stopped beside the ladder, still gripping the pyro. In front of him, Mick struggled to keep his footing.

Savitar shoved him into a sitting position and pressed the compressor ring on his finger. Normally it held his civilian clothes. Tonight, he'd also 'packed' a pair of Ramon's power-dampening cuffs. It had been Eddie's idea to be prepared for an attack from Merkel's team.

He fastened them around Rory's wrists and chained both arms to the iron ladder reaching up to civilization.

Rory growled. His lip was bleeding, and his left cheek was already starting to swell, looking purple. "You think I can't get outta this? You think _I'm_ the main event?"

Ignoring him, Savitar touched a finger to the comms. "West."

"Still here," Wally replied. There was a careful steadiness to his voice now. Savitar knew they could hear Rory on the speakers in the Cortex through the comms; West must be piecing two and two together. The speedster could recognize the avoidance of hope better than anyone. It _sounded_ fragile.

"Why on Earth aren't you moving?" Stein was saying in the background. "There are a mere forty minutes left! Is this the best time—"

Savitar cut him off, glancing at the painted letters on the cement wall above them. "There are trackers implanted in the meta cuffs. Tell Eddie he's gonna have to make another stop on the way back."

* * *

Meanwhile, Caitlin was gagged.

Peter Merkel had only entered the phone booth once—to fasten a wad of fabric around her mouth. "Dreadfully, terribly sorry, Caity. But if this isn't good and tight, I think you may ruin the surprise."

Then he'd slunk back out, locking her in again. Not that she could've moved if he'd left it open.

But she was working on that.

It wasn't hard to slide her head up and down against the glass walls of the booth, pulling the gag's knotted back over the crown of her skull as it weakened with the movement. It fell limp around her neck, like a bandana, and she spat it from between her teeth.

The chains around her wrists were what was keeping her from reaching her necklace. Once she escaped from the chains, the zip ties would be easy. Without the attachment to that rod in the center of the booth, she could reach her pendant and freeze the ties right off. Of course, she _could_ , theoretically, free herself from the zip ties without the use of her metahuman abilities. But past experience told her she would need to move quickly after the chains had been dealt with. And getting out of the ties manually, the way an average captive might, would definitely take up too much time.

If Savitar was walking into a trap, she wasn't going to be the bait. Not for much longer.

The chains were sturdy, if a bit rustier than what probably healthy against her skin, and Caitlin had tried to turn and worm her wrists from the loops holding them without much luck. If wriggling out was impossible, then the chains themselves needed to be broken away. Feeling her heartbeat in her now extremely-swollen ankle, Caitlin scooted toward the iron bar and began furiously rubbing the nearest link against the iron rod. The chains were rusty; she thought that if she could use enough force, they might break, little by little, when driven against something sharp.

While she rubbed, Caitlin replayed the Rag Doll's monologue in her mind.

He had been painting this version of Central City with confusion and fear ever since the particle accelerator had failed. Clearly power-hungry metas had flocked to him for direction, filled with the idea of a bigger goal than a few stolen goods—a city where no one, including the police force, had any control over them. If no one knew when the next superhuman attack might be, or where, soon enough the entire population would be afraid even to go out for dinner. And though law enforcement might try to come up with a way to combat it, Caitlin knew that without some metahuman help of their own—or one very determined Cisco Ramon wielding a wrench and blueprints a mile long—they wouldn't have the resources to fight an ever-growing horde of altered criminals.

But she and Savitar had arrived on Earth-66. They'd ripped Merkel's plans down the middle without knowing they were doing it, giving the people something to believe in. The way the Flash did back home—whether you were caught in a car crash or held hostage at a bank, you _knew_ there was someone out there, someone who could do things no one else could do. And that that person was on _your_ side. You knew he would do everything in his power to make sure you were going to be okay. However gruff Savitar could be, he got the same job done, and the people on this Earth were starting to take notice.

 _"So I need to take care of him first."_

Caitlin narrowed her eyes at the link she was working on. She wanted to spy a dent, a mark, anything, that said that her frantic rubbing was working, but in the minimal light flickering and dancing above her, she couldn't tell.

He couldn't kill Savitar. Logically, she knew it was nearly impossible. Savitar could move faster than Merkel could breathe. One ultra-bendy circus freak with a knife should not have been able to best the fastest man alive. It couldn't be done. But he'd been so confident, almost gleeful, that she couldn't help wondering if there was something he hadn't bragged about, something they hadn't thought of.

She rubbed harder, using nervous energy now, ignoring the throbbing in her ankle as she shifted closer to the bar. She was worried enough when Barry bolted out to fight some superpowered nut job on Earth-1—and that was on a good day, when Barry was grinning and promising his team a victory trip to Jitters on his _way_ to do battle. Now she would be trapped in this ridiculous, filthy old rectangle while her friend ran in blind.

No. She wouldn't. She would get out. If Savitar didn't have to worry about a hostage, he could go to town on the Rag Doll, and Caitlin could work on disarming the bomb. With no way to tell how much time they had before Merkel's deadline was up, anxiety settled thick and heavy in her chest; she tried not to think of how many seconds had gone by. Wasted. Because she was just _sitting_ here.

Rubbing the chains off wasn't working. They weren't decayed enough. But Caitlin had thought of that. "Always have a backup plan, Doctor Snow." Harrison Wells had drilled it into her mind for years before the accident, eyes on her work as he sat a few feet away, playing chess with Hartley. If the chains weren't cooperating, the rod jutting from the floor might be her next best bet. Each time the weak light shone down on the floor, Caitlin examined the place in the ground it had been pierced into.

Phone booths didn't just come with an iron stick poking out of its center. Merkel had rigged this specifically, and if it could be wedged in good and tight, it could be jiggled out. She just had to use the right amount of strength. Hands were out of the question.

Luckily, she still had one good leg.

She tried to empty her mind as she set to work kicking at the bar. Fretting wouldn't help anything. Worrying about Savitar and worrying about Merkel's confidence and worrying about the bomb threatening the people above—it wasn't productive. So though the sharp movements of one leg had her wounded ankle screaming for her to stop, Caitlin continued, gritting her teeth and kicking until it felt an hour had passed with the same action, over and over again. Each time she kicked, the chains around her wrists yanked at her, but this was more of an encouragement than a hindrance. If Caitlin had to move toward the bar over time, that meant it was moving.

There was a shuffling sound of footsteps approaching, and she jerked to a halt.

Caitlin saw a silhouette on the metal steps of her raised platform, just for a moment, thanks to the lamp Merkel had set a few feet outside the booth. She dragged herself around the iron bar, pressing her back to it, hiding any sign of escape.

It was Nimbus. In one hand, he held a tube of Pringles, stuffing them into his mouth with the other. Still chewing as he approached the phone booth, he said throatily, "How's it feel?"

Caitlin glared at him. "How does what feel?"

He jerked his chin up and tapped the glass with a toe. "Being stuck in a box." Nimbus swallowed the snack. "Told you we weren't gonna be in your private chicken coop long."

She slid her bound hands along the iron bar, feeling for the indent in the floor. Trying to tell how far it was from being pulled out. "At least we fed you," she said tightly, hoping conversation might cover up any movement.

Nimbus wiggled the container of chips at her. "Do you do tricks?" When Caitlin didn't answer, he said, "It's almost time for the big show. I can't chat long. Just wanted to see it for myself." He crouched down beside the door, looking her up and down. "Boss said he'd make us even. Glass walls and all."

"I won't be here long," Caitlin quoted, scowling.

 _There it is._ The bar had been wedged, bent by her kicking, and the hole Merkel had created when he drove it into the floor was now just barely a half-inch wider. The phone booth really was old. Caitlin wrapped her fingers around the bar, slowly lifting it. She moved so carefully, it almost felt she wasn't doing it at all.

Nimbus grinned, never blinking. It made his skin seem even paler. "Why? Because he's coming to rescue you? He'll never make it past the door."

Caitlin shook her head, willing her expression into that of stone. The rod was free. Her chains slackened, she heard it. But Nimbus didn't seem to notice.

"My employer's really good with knives. Your friend will be bleeding out on that floor down there in ten minutes." Nimbus glanced down, far, far below them, at the wide stretch of cement ground, lit only by one orange light, like the kind lining roads on the surface. "Then we got the keys to the city."

Caitlin felt a roaring in her ears, that same protective snarl that rose up in her and caused her to snap at a reckless Barry Allen. But this was stronger.

 _Now._ She was free. Caitlin slid the rod from its hole and let it clang to the ground, her bonds loosening, so that the metal wasn't pressing hard against her skin any longer. She wouldn't need to untie anything in a moment. Fear bubbled close to the surface— _what if I lose control?_ But she didn't have much of a choice. And if she didn't do this, the risk of Savitar dying would be that much greater. Him, and everyone living in this half of Central City-66.

"I wonder if you can handle it," Kyle added, turning back to her. There was a crazy delight in his wide eyes. "Watching him die. Right in front of you."

His gaze landed on the rod, limp and rolling slightly on the floor of the booth. The delight faded to confusion.

In a heartbeat, both bound wrists flew to her snowflake pendant, thumb and forefinger grasping it so hard she was afraid she might crack it. Caitlin yanked it off, the clasp at the back of her neck snapping almost at once. Wispy cold ran down her throat and pumped through her arms. _Finally._

An icy echo surrounded Caitlin's voice, eyes tinged the white-gray of blizzard storm clouds. "Wouldn't be the first time."

She felt it build, locking eyes with the meta. A cloud of ice burst from her lungs and she opened her mouth wide, letting it fog up the glass of the phone booth. The lights cracked and, already struggling to hang onto life, broke above her, glass showering down. She watched thick ice coat the chains and flung the against the walls, watching the links shatter. The same thing freed her from the zip ties, and she made quick work of the door handle.

Nimbus stared at her, licking his lips, as she stepped out of her prison, the cold numbing her bad ankle, as if the sprain were completely healed. There was fear in his expression, she could see it vibrantly. He hadn't been expecting this at all. "You're one of us."

Caitlin tilted her head, but it was Killer Frost who answered. "He didn't tell you?"

A blast of cold air caught Nimbus right in the chest, knocking him backward, over the metal bannister, off the platform and onto one far lower.

Caitlin struggled to remain in control, glancing over the rail to see Nimbus unconscious below. _I am_ not _going to kill him. I am_ not _going to kill him. That's not what we do. That's not who we are._ She repeated it, over and over, dropping a dagger of ice the size of her forearm when she realized she was holding it. It was in her. The anger Frost carried for her, the anger Frost wielded when Caitlin would never. She could feel it; it was part of the ice. But if she lost herself now, there was no guarantee she could be brought back. And the last thing this situation needed was someone like Killer Frost, who might be all too prepared to just up and join Merkel's gang instead of opposing it.

She could use her powers to fight Merkel. Fight Rory, Nimbus, Snart, Park. But even now, Killer Frost was aching to go down there and finish Nimbus off. Even now, Caitlin could hear her laugh, hear her itching to break something. Frost was made up of everything negative that had ever affected her. She was so full of bitterness, full of pain, she was constantly looking for ways to let it all out. Snow had to cut her off now, before it was too late. Freeing herself was enough—trying to take on the bad guys in this fragile state of mind, with these abilities she hadn't yet learned to direct, would only be borrowing trouble.

Caitlin forced her steps to return to the phone booth, where she picked up her dampening necklace with shaking hands. Frost crawled over the wire as she held it, quickly fastening it beneath hair that hadn't yet turned white.

The cold slid away from her throat. Caitlin exhaled slowly, watching puffs of frigid air float out as she did, until they grew smaller and smaller, and then faded out altogether. She was herself again.

The Rag Doll was nowhere in sight. Neither were his groupies. He probably had them deterring Savitar, or worse, painting the city red far above, soaking up whatever this side of the town had to offer in the way of crime before the bomb went off. In fact, they were probably a safe distance from the blast zone. There was no sense in Merkel losing his minions in this convoluted process.

She had to find the bomb. The Rag Doll had said it was here—here in this cavern. She was no Cisco Ramon, but she had to at least _try_ to disarm it. Then all they would have to worry about was Merkel and his meta crew.

Caitlin crouched beside the rail, moving silently and slowly down the steps. She left the lamp where it was, beside the freezing phone booth. From the ground, no one would see it; it was smack in the center of the platform. But if she took it with her, if she used it to light her way now, she could be discovered. Best to try and escape on her own; Merkel couldn't use her as leverage then. Barefoot, skin cold, still alone. She would make it out.

But she was a little late.

Just as she reached the bottom of the steps, sliding cautiously onto the next platform—Nimbus still lay on the one below this—Caitlin's heart leapt and then sank with dread as she heard a familiar _FWOOSH._

* * *

With Stein and Wally counting down the steps he had left to go, Savitar reached Rag Doll's lair. He hadn't realized how far down he'd traveled until he got there.

It was a massive cavern in the underbelly of the city. The ceiling stretched so impossibly high, if he hadn't had night vision, it would have been too dark to see the top. It was tall enough to host several extremely wide platforms of various heights, supported by long, thin poles of metal. Merkel had grown up in a circus. Clearly he was most comfortable being able to climb and stretch his muscles as far as he could. Savitar knew exactly what Cisco might say if he were here—"He's like some freakish murder monkey." It paid, in stressful times, to have the memories of a man who knew someone like Ramon. You could pull a laugh from almost anything, wherever you went.

But Savitar was as far as he could be from laughter. He stopped cold in the center of the room, looking for Caitlin. She'd be on one of those platforms, according to the live video they'd received. With his night vision, he could see what was on the lower platforms—boxes of weapons, several hunks of metal, a chair or two, some kind of inventor's table. But the higher they got, the harder it was to see any details if he wasn't up there himself. The phone booth should have been flickering, but there was no sign of the white-blue light, however far back he leaned.

The rest of the cave seemed empty, with several tunnels leading out. There was an old street light rigged in one corner, shining down on a long crate leaning on its side. The crate was facing an old television, and Savitar could see the Cortex, blurry onscreen. In real time. There was Stein, still seated behind the white winding desk, and Wally standing on its other side, phone to his ear. Calling Eddie.

Uninterested in the décor, Savitar began looking for a way onto the platforms. The legs were too thin to run up the sides. There was no ramp, and the only sets of metal steps simply led from one surface to the other. Nothing that went from the main floor to the first. Moving a few steps closer, he spied silver hooks hammered into one of the legs of the lowest platform—a makeshift ladder.

Then Caitlin's gasp, her voice, ripped through the silent cave.

"Savitar, look out!"

Instinctually, he turned on his heel. The Rag Doll had crept up behind him, absolutely noiseless, wielding a knife in each hand.

"You're _here_!" cried Merkel, in a tone that told the speedster he was smiling broadly behind his mask. This mask was different than the one he'd worn before. It was still white, but more like a mannequin's expressionless face—plastic, maybe—strapped to his head. Red light glowed from the eyes. Mechanical, then.

Savitar didn't waste time on banter. For a split second he looked up, up at the platforms, eyes searching for Caitlin. Her voice came from far above them. But it wouldn't matter if he found her, not if the Rag Doll went free. He began running right away. He darted around Merkel, aiming to kick his feet out from under him.

With one smooth stroke, suddenly there was a long slice across his forearm.

Savitar gritted his teeth and slid in a half-second out of the way of Merkel's next swing. He stared at the Rag Doll, mouth only slightly open to show his shock. How had he been cut? Hadn't he been moving too quickly?

"That is really, very impressive up close." The Rag Doll bowed.

Again, Savitar advanced. He aimed a fist right beneath Merkel's jaw, but when he halted a heartbeat later to deliver the blow, the Rag Doll flipped backward, locking both feet behind Savitar's head and launching the speedster into the air.

"However, I believe it would have been _more_ impressive if you were actually _at_ top speed!"

Savitar slammed onto the ground on his back and quickly righted himself, before Merkel could leap on top of him. There was, amazingly, another cut along his shoulder this time. He could feel it stinging—he could feel everything stinging. The heat he'd felt since Rory's attack was worse; he could even feel it between his toes.

"What's going on?" Wally demanded over the comms.

"I don't know," Savitar growled, eyes on the Rag Doll as he turned to face the speedster, flipping the knives expertly. "I'm slowing down."

"Impossible," Stein dismissed. "Apart from a spike in adrenaline, your inner makeup seems average—your blood sugar levels, your heart rate—but your muscles…" He paused, and Savitar could tell from his voice he was pressing his knuckles thoughtfully against his mouth. "They've weakened dramatically in the past few minutes. It's as if someone were… _wringing_ them out, like a dish towel."

"Got that," the speedster grunted, gathering the energy he needed to put a bit more distance between himself and the knives. Even his Speed Force lightning was weaker; only one or two strands followed the movement. His legs shook beneath him.

"It's dreadfully rude to be on the phone when you have company," Merkel interrupted, front-flipping twice, faster than Savitar had expected, lashing out with his blades again.

Savitar sprang backward, exploding into a racing circle around Merkel. If he moved quickly enough, he could pull the oxygen from that area, rendering his opponent helpless.

Stinging pain near his spine made him skid to a halt, feeling for the wounds. He _couldn't_ move quickly enough.

Savitar glanced behind him, noting two knives—the ones that must have grazed his back—embedded in the wall beyond. The Rag Doll had already acquired two more, darting in and out. As Savitar ducked and dodged, landing at least one punch (though Merkel was up again in a blink, pushing up off of his palms) he could feel the warm sensation tingling along his neck and at his fingertips.

Everything in him wanted to give Merkel the full treatment—rapid punches, whiplash, possibly a few broken bones—but adrenaline or not, livid or not, only one of them was fast enough right now to draw blood. And it wasn't him.

"You've gained multiple abrasions along the flesh of your back," Stein reported. "How is he able to make contact, you should be moving at an—"

"You're definitely going slower," Wally interrupted. "Says here you're running at only… _half_ your normal speed." Confusion made his voice crack. "You can't go any faster?"

Savitar tried racing in a circle along the walls, going for a supersonic punch. But he couldn't even gain the ground to go all the way around. Nausea was building in his throat; he was sweating inside his suit, making his wounds flare and scream. He was getting dizzy, too.

He had to slide to a halt. "Nope."

"I'm rubbish at surprise parties," Merkel was saying conversationally. "Never can keep a secret for long. I sent Mister Rory with a welcome package—a chemical our own Lisa Snart concocted."

Savitar dodged yet another swing, but the second caught him lightly just below the collar bone. He wasn't losing an obscene amount of blood, but he would be soon if this kept up.

"She's rather good with chemistry. That and firearms, anyway, which, actually, is _probably_ —" the Rag Doll swung, trying and failing to take one of Savitar's ears, "—why it came in the form of a flamethrower. Mick really loved that bit. The man is simply _ill_ about heat!"

The fire he'd run through was what was making him sluggish. Mick hadn't just been trying to toast him—he'd been ensuring Savitar would be coated with whatever Snart had cooked up.

"Anyway, something like ten minutes ago, it was supposed to take effect. D'you know, I think it's a bit late! Ironic, since it's meant to slow you down." Merkel shook his head, vaulting over his enemy's head and landing on the other side. "Not completely, only for a few minutes, but that's just enough. My performances usually only last six minutes anyway. What, did you think I wouldn't make this a fair fight?"

The contortionist wasn't finished yet. In the time it took Savitar to turn around, the Rag Doll had slashed a blade down the speedster's left side and wrapped one of his legs around one of Savitar's, knocking him to the ground.

Rag Doll's masked face and wild red wig loomed down over him. "Care to cut a deal, old chap?"

Savitar rolled and got to his feet again. He dashed to the farthest wall, getting a running start.

When he stopped, Merkel was a foot away, to his right.

"Hear me out, can't you?" The Rag Doll pouted.

He leapt like a frog into the air, wrapping his arms and legs around Savitar's throat and chest, pulling him slowly to the ground again. Savitar felt his lungs constricting; the Rag Doll was like a cobra. He wouldn't be the mouse. Reaching up, he grabbed his enemy's mask and ripped it off with one thrust. Then, shutting his eyes, Savitar phased through Merkel's body, halting a few paces back. The very action made him gasp for breath; his skin was warmer than ever.

The Rag Doll rushed after him. Without the mask, his face was thin and his smile crooked. "You're good. You're excellent. You've bested nearly all my brightest men—and women—and really, I've been thinking you and I might work better—" He slashed toward Savitar's neck with the left knife, but the speedster darted out of the way. "—together."

Savitar paused to regain oxygen after the previous attack, watching Merkel with hooded lids.

"Wait him out," Stein commanded. "He's slipped up, given you too much information."

"Yeah, it's gotta wear off soon," agreed Wally.

"Barring any side effects, anyway," Stein added.

Merkel was still talking. "Not to go all Darth Vader on you, mate, but I do mean it." He scratched the back of his neck with the flat of one blade, also catching his breath. "Join me. _Us_. Come on, I've been watching you, remember? I know _everything_."

The speedster watched him, watched the other knife twirling and the smile growing. _I know everything._

"That's right. Cameras caught every scene you lot played out in your humble abode. I know who you are. I know your secret. And I know your _potential_." Merkel dropped one weapon, letting it clang to the floor. He spread the free palm. "Nobody else ever saw it, did they? Your whole life, well, not life, more like _existence_ —no one gave you the chance to show it."

 _Wait him out._ Savitar was the king of patience. But it was hard to tune out what sounded suspiciously like the truth while he waited.

"Think of it, Savvie. Realizing all that potential! You take up with me, right here and now, and we'll toss that little bomb idea, shall we? More of the city will be left to take. I'll even let Caity go free—she'll live through all this. And you get to help run the place. Central City's ours. Everyone will know you. You'll be able to do whatever you like." He grinned. "Then you'll _truly_ be a god."

The cavern was silent then, save the two men's heavy breathing. The solitary street light seemed to dim a little. Savitar blinked hard. _Everyone will know you. She'll live through all this. You'll truly be a god._ A few months ago, he knew he would have been intrigued by the offer. A few months ago, he could've taken this operation from Merkel and made it his own. He would've said yes in a second. He would already be in control of Earth-66. He would already be the ruler here. He would take this amateur chaos and mold it into something really terrifying.

But he hadn't come to this Earth alone. He'd made the mistake of accepting a chaperone. And then she wasn't just his chaperone, she was his teammate. Then she was his friend. His _friend_ , the only one he had ever had, in _both_ timelines. Killer Frost and Caitlin Snow, the only ones who had ever actually been by his side. He may have the memories of Barry's friends, Barry's family, but they had never really been there. She had. He should have known, bringing her here, that history might repeat itself. He just hadn't counted on Caitlin moving him, directing him, the way he had once moved and directed Frost.

Looking at Merkel now, everything seemed to move in slow motion. Joining this team of metas, this group of wicked, fear-inducing criminals was _exactly_ what the God of Speed would do.

But he wasn't the God of Speed. Not any longer.

Savitar held up Merkel's mask, expressionless, so that the two almost matched. Slowly, he phased his hand through it. It cracked, loud and sharp, shards of plastic and metal flying, sparks popping into the air.

"Sorry." Savitar clicked his tongue. "Doesn't sound like me."

Merkel shook his head, curling his lip. "Well, now you've gone and made me cross."

He was, at this point, beside the makeshift ladder made of hooks, leading up the lowest platform. In seconds, the Rag Doll had slipped up to the surface, disappearing from sight.

A moment and a sudden yelp later, he reappeared, yanking a figure up by her hair. He pulled the victim with him toward the edge, balancing on one foot as though he'd never had two to begin with.

"Look who Klondike Bar-ed her way out of her cage!" The Rag Doll crowed, hoisting Caitlin into a higher standing position with a fistful of her light brown locks. "Creeping away is slow going when you can't see. Did you think I wouldn't have a Plan B, Savvie?" He pressed his remaining knife more tightly to her throat.

A slight movement said she was reaching for her necklace.

"I don't allow Killer Frosts in here, love, they're awfully messy." Merkel leaned toward her ear. "Try it, go on. Test me. He already broke my lovely new mask. I've run out of patience for you and your frankly emo boyfriend."

Savitar only had to meet Caitlin's pain-bright eyes for a moment. New energy welled up within him, and the Speed Force leapt and shrieked behind his eyes in welcome. The heat was waning. Six minutes were up, and he'd been just dying to really stretch his legs.

He ran beneath the platform and up the east wall, turning in midair to face the backs of the two people on the edge. Muscles getting stronger by the second, Savitar pushed off the wall and landed right behind them, relishing the feeling. In one fluid motion, he removed Merkel from Caitlin and kicked him bodily off of the surface.

With a thud, the Rag Doll landed on the concrete, somehow unbroken. Savitar was beside Caitlin for a second, but his eyes were on the enemy. He flashed back down to the main floor. Merkel staggered upward, trying to stand, but Savitar slammed him back down.

"That was a bad move." He dropped down beside the Rag Doll, one knee on his chest.

"Perhaps," the Rag Doll gasped, not bothering to struggle. He didn't seem afraid, to Savitar's irritation, but he did seem surprised. "Six minutes gone. Right, good, you got me. Using the same bait twice, I admit it's stale. You _do_ make a lovely pair, honestly," he went on quietly. "But for how long? If she weren't here—if she'd left you in the dust, would you have turned me down so easily? Can she even trust you?" He raised his voice, shouting up to the platform, "Can you even trust him, Caity? After what he's done?"

But the speedster wasn't letting the doubt, the guilt lathering years past sink in this time. No more bitterness, no more angst. It couldn't touch him anymore. In that moment—being the Flash again, defeating the villain, with a team in the Cortex and a drum beating within him, no amount of darkness from 2024 or Infantino Street came even close to swallowing him up.

After being what he had been, _who_ he had been—after killing H.R., threatening Iris, possessing Julian, trapping Wally—the girl who remained crouched on the edge of the platform above had still been there with him. She'd been willing to help him change. She'd been willing to think he still could. She wasn't afraid of him, and she didn't hate him. She knew him, completely, and she'd stayed.

"I'm not that person anymore." Savitar didn't look around. He knew Caitlin was listening. He knew she agreed. "You were wrong. You're not the only one who gave me a chance."

"Ugh, that's very nice," Peter sighed, lifting his head off of the floor to get a better look at his opposition. "But I wasn't talking about your little god act. I was talking about the—oh, what d'you call it? The _breach machine_."

Savitar's blood turned to ice.

"You heard me, didn't you, up there?" Peter called. "You can't get home, Caity, and it's because of him. _He's_ the reason you're trapped."

On the other end of the comms, Wally cursed.

Merkel smiled broadly at the speedster. "Told you I can't keep a secret."

Above them, Savitar could just barely hear Caitlin's sharp, almost shaky inhale.

Savitar still didn't turn around. But it wasn't because he knew he had her support this time. He was frightened of the expression he might see. He didn't even _need_ to see it—he could picture it. It would be like the time Barry had told her not to treat him like Ronnie. Like the time he'd confessed about Flashpoint, what it had done to her life in particular. It would be like chipped glass. Wet brown eyes, some of the light fading in a sudden loss of confidence.

He wouldn't look at her. What was the point?

He should have expected something like this; he'd known Merkel had been watching them, that he'd had the entirety of S.T.A.R. Labs bugged. Having been in that role himself, he knew every piece of information against the opposing side could be used. The Rag Doll had been sure to miss nothing.

That included late tinkering hours in Savitar's basement bedroom.

"What does he mean?" Wally's voice was louder than usual. Older, rougher. "Savitar?"

Above, Caitlin Snow had yet to say a word.

With a fast, firm hand, Savitar switched off the comms. He looked down at the Rag Doll and couldn't form words. Something large and thick and soaked with a feeling between fury and horror had clogged his throat.

"And you're forgetting the bomb, Savvie dearest," Peter went on gleefully. "Ooh, look at his eyes get big! There's a little detonator somewhere in this room and you've got—I'd say twenty minutes to disarm it? And get Caity far, far away—assuming she _wants_ to go anywhere with you now, that is. Are you sure you're fast enough?"

Using his speed, Savitar dragged Merkel up a wall, onto the platforms, and into Caitlin's phone booth prison, using the iron rod in the center to block the door handle. "Stay," the speedster ordered through his teeth. Merkel's smile never fell.

He examined the room. He'd been the Big Bad once. A small, powerful explosive and very few options in the way of keeping it hidden, keeping it safe until the time was right. Where would he hide it?

And then Caitlin, climbing shakily down from the lowest platform, said dully behind him, "The television set." Her tones seemed faraway, distracted. Almost completely devoid of emotion.

For a moment, he forgot what was hanging in the air and turned to look at her upon hearing her voice, eyes skipping hers completely and settling instead on her ankle. "You're not hurt." It was as solid as a statement, but there was a questioning pitch.

"Killer Frost took care of it."

Savitar nodded and went to the back of the old television set, eager to keep his face hidden. Merkel's revelation kept them at arm's length anyway. Minutes ago, he might have hurried up to her, just to feel that she was all right, that she was physically there. But now it felt as though a chasm had opened in the floor, and they were on opposite sides.

He phased his hand through the shell of the television, just enough to create an opening, pulling the back away from the rest of the machine, not batting an eye as sparks shot through the air.

There, nestled in the center, was the bomb. Blue light shone from a timer that warned sixteen minutes until detonation.

"Careful, speedy!" Merkel bellowed cheerily from the phone booth. "It's extremely sensitive. One wrong move and you'll get the job done early, I expect. Oh, but take your time and you, Caity and I _all_ shall be blown to kingdom come!"

Savitar looked at that narrow face, those large, mad eyes, and felt the red swimming through again. Even beaten, this man wouldn't shut up. He had to have the last word. And he was about to happily take out half of the city _and_ himself. He'd kidnapped Caitlin, wounded her, locked her up, and held a knife to her throat. He'd told her about the breach machine. He'd threatened to take her life.

And he'd sliced up the only suit Savitar currently owned.

The speedster stood, shaking his head slightly. "No," he called up coolly. "Just you."

Caitlin's brow furrowed as Savitar strode over, all business. "What are you doing?"

The question was tight and stressed, like a spring pressed down beneath a boot. There was more ice in her stare than he'd ever seen in Killer Frost. He watched her breathe short and fast. She was probably counting to a hundred this time. He couldn't blame her. But the snarling in him still dismissed it.

"My speed's back. I can get everyone else out." Savitar heard the red in his voice as he spoke, and he let it stain the words. With every heartbeat pounding through the wounds patterned across his body from the fight, with every step he took to face the tunnel through which he'd come in, the old rage was pulsing and flowing.

Peter Merkel might have fashioned the beginning of this story, but with the sight of that bomb in the television set, and the contortionist locked in the booth above, Savitar was all too pleased to control the end.

"He wants to watch the city burn," the speedster went on, shrugging, "he can have a front row seat. He stays here."

Caitlin caught her breath, shooting an alarmed glance toward the bomb and back to him. "But—that's not what we—"

He didn't let her finish. He wasn't listening anyway. After flicking back on his comms, Savitar scooped her up, bridal-style, and the Speed Force held them tight as he ran back into the sewer system.

"Stein," he ordered curtly, "I'm getting Caitlin out. Where's Eddie?"

There was a second of hesitation before anyone responded. For the first time, Stein sounded flustered, and not at all friendly. "Detective Thawne is currently heading south, near Englewood. According to Mister West, he'll meet you twenty miles from your current location," he added coldly. "On Infantino Street."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: And now she collapses immediately because that took forever and my brain is fried and I went back and changed several lines last-minute. If it's choppy, I apologize, I edited different scenes at different times so there may be continuity errors in there somewhere. Forgive me. I'll re-read it later and fix whatever I hath wrecked! Love you, Jell-O Squares. I mean it. All you nutty nuts reading this monster nerd session are really, really great readers and a really, really smart audience. Next chapter will be the last, but don't fret, an epilogue will also be added! You're all the cheese in my quesadilla. ~Doverstar)**


	40. Chapter 40: Being Heard

**(Author's Note: AND HERE IT IS. The last chapter. I may go back and change some of it later. I made you wait a month, Jell-O Squares, and I am so sorry. Thanks for being you, J-Squares. ~Doverstar)**

* * *

It was now mid-day in Central City. The sun glowed that brilliant autumn white overhead, as though all the yellow had been sucked from it and spilled out into the trees. The shadows were almost icy, each with a tinge of blue and darker than usual, it seemed. The smell of churros radiated from somewhere nearby; some food truck must have just opened. People milled about, shopping and chasing down taxis, munching fries on street corners and waiting at bus stops. Quite as if there was _not_ a maniac in checkered leggings threatening their livelihood with a bomb, miles beneath their feet. It didn't matter if they were aware or not. They would all be raced to safety within the next ten minutes. The same wouldn't be said of their homes and favorite restaurants, but clueless beggars couldn't be clueless choosers.

Infantino Street on Earth-66 was exactly the same. It seemed every other location in this universe was always less familiar. CCJitters, the park, Big Belly Burger, even S.T.A.R. Labs itself—they all carried a Rubbermaid full of changes when it came to the details, making the whole place stand on its own, separate from Earth-1. Even the sky sometimes looked a different shade of blue. But Infantino Street was the exception.

They had planted the same kind of tree. It was the same pavement material, the same colored benches in the square. It was the same raised dais and the same number of steps. Savitar had carved every single millimeter of this spot deep into his memory. He knew it from Barry's side of things—being the remnant of a future version of the Flash—and he knew it from his own side. He could close his eyes and remember the same moment, both from that patch of grass near the edge of the square, and from the dais opposite it. It was one of the only things in his mind that the two _separate_ perspectives could share. The hour Iris died. No, the hour H.R. died.

He knew how nauseous this square made Barry Allen, every time he ran past it now. He knew how far 2024's Flash would go, what measures he would take, to ensure he'd never physically see it again. He knew, too, the old excitement and anticipation he himself used to feel, picturing this outwardly tame clearing. Picturing how his plan would unfold right there, how he would finally be satisfied. How the circle that never seemed whole in his head would at last be complete.

But he wasn't here to kill Iris West. He wouldn't kill H.R. on that dais instead. This wasn't _that_ version of Infantino Street, however identical.

It was still a bit too surreal as he set Caitlin down, turning slightly on his heel to look the street over. "Professor," he demanded into his comms, "where's Eddie?"

"Still en route."

There wasn't any point in keeping the comms online for the moment. Eddie would show up when he showed up, and no amount of nagging was going to make him appear faster. This wasn't the backseat of a minivan Disneyland-bound. Savitar turned off the comms, pacing halfway up the steps of the dais, pausing, coming back down again. Nine minutes.

Caitlin had continued her protest from Merkel's lair the moment he stopped running, and was getting louder now that she'd been released from his grip. She went right past the topic of the breach machine sabotage—right past the fact that he'd gone and gotten himself sliced to ribbons and subjected to an unknown muscle deterrent—and seemed fixated on the decision he'd just made moments ago.

"What do you think you're _doing_?" she was snarling now.

Her tone attracted glances from passersby—and come to find out, in the middle of an overcast day, there were quite a few onlookers.

Though the run had dried any blood that had been coming from his wounds, Savitar knew the sight of the city's 'hero' in full costume with a girl in a spotless white lab coat would attract far too much attention. And Caitlin's shrill, shocked rebukes were not helping.

Time stood still as Savitar released his civilian outfit from the compressor ring in his suit, changing into them in half a heartbeat.

"How could you—"

"Caitlin, stop—"

"No—no, _how_ could you leave—"

"Caitlin!" Savitar stepped closer and clapped a hand to her mouth, eyebrows arching in warning, eyes cutting to the sidewalk discreetly. When she paused, he removed his hand.

She lowered her voice at last, realizing what he meant, but the bite didn't go anywhere as she went on. "You can't just _let_ that bomb go off. There is no way—not even _you_ could get every single living thing out of this area before it detonates."

"All but one," Savitar corrected her. He wasn't listening to her statistics. They didn't have time for this. He glared at her, intending to say so, but she was looking at him with such disgust, the words died in his throat.

"Merkel?" she replied, lips barely parting as she spoke. Her eyes were wide and hard. "You're just gonna leave him down there to die?"

"If I'm lucky."

"That is _exactly_ what he is planning to do to everyone else here." She shook her head. "That's not how we do things."

"Where? On Team Flash?" Savitar's cuts began to bleed again in several places now that he was still, and the stinging didn't do anything to improve his mood. "They're not here, Caitlin. I'm not—"

 _–_ the Flash, he wanted to say. He had everything in Barry Allen's head, from recurring dreams to the first loose tooth. But they wouldn't let him be Barry. They wouldn't let him be Savitar, either. He wanted to scream it until someone, _someone_ heard him. Until someone listened.

But Caitlin interrupted him.

"No, _you_ know that this isn't the right way!" She snapped. Her arms were limp at her sides, but everything else seemed to point at him accusingly. "This isn't how it works, Savitar. I thought you understood that." Her voice grew thick. "I thought—maybe you were getting better than this. But every time I think you…" She didn't finish, swallowing. Glancing away, only for a second.

He watched her eyes. They weren't cold, the way he'd expected they'd be when they were still underground. Instead, they were filmy and lost, stabbing him in a woeful linger, like he was full, but ruined. An old favorite security blanket someone had just stained.

Caitlin shook her head, slowly at first, and then so hard her curls shook too. "I can't believe you would choose _this_."

All the frustration he'd felt in the past few months, that dull throbbing in the back of his mind when she called him Flash, when she alluded to something she and the original had done, when she looked at him like she was looking at him now—it bubbled over. As soon as she stopped talking, it came bursting out of him.

"Because it wasn't what _the Flash_ would do, right?"

He turned fully around, not wanting to look at her anymore. There wasn't time for _this_ , either. And it would only make him angrier, seeing the disappointment there. Savitar ran a hand down his mouth, dragging it, trying to control the burning feeling in his chest. It was frustration, yes, but something else too. Something that felt scarily familiar. The same thing that had once made him yearn to be a god, to get rid of this sensation once and for all. Like pain, like—heartbrokenness, but wider. Emptier. A hint of what he'd felt in 2024.

"No—" But when Caitlin answered him, only half a second later, she sounded baffled, talking angrily right over the very tail of his sentence. "No, because you _are_ him!"

The burning feeling stiffened, cool shock submerging it. Savitar moved to face her as though standing on a thinly frozen lake. "What did you say?" It came out on a breath; he hadn't meant to continue the conversation and his mouth worked before he could think.

She paused, cocking her head. Eyebrows pinched. "You really don't see it?"

Something like pity, like an apology, in the confused question.

"You're the Flash." Caitlin shifted her weight to the other foot, holding his gaze. Her tone had turned steady, and she spoke quickly at first, slowing down as she went on. As if she'd been trying to explain this on her own for some time. " _And_ you're you. A new version—a different version, but the same person."

Savitar hardly moved.

"You don't smile the same way, or talk the same way, or—run in the same pattern. At first, I…thought you did." More confusion. And then, firmly: "But you have the same heart. It's still in there. I know you. I know you want to help people and you want to feel loved. And I know you can do the right thing, _despite_ everything you were. Everything you've been through. That's always been you."

At first, he thought he might have stopped breathing, listening to her. But he was definitely breathing—suddenly, he felt he hadn't been able to actually inhale until right this second. Like something had been blocking him, a weight on his lungs.

Caitlin actually smiled at him. Disregarding the events of the past hour. A small, fast smile. "You _are_ Barry, Savitar. You're just a different kind. Your own kind. And—even if you don't believe me—" she took in a huge, quiet breath after her speech, concluding, "I do _want_ this Barry."

 _I_ want _this Barry._

Savitar remembered exploding out of a nine-month coma and locking eyes, just for a second, with Caitlin. He remembered the grief she'd ignored to help him become the Flash. Caitlin's relieved smile when he returned from a mission in one piece. He remembered the smell of Germ-X on her hands after she treated his wounds. He remembered the way she looked right into him, any time he was down, setting aside what she was doing and waiting in silence for him to tell her what was wrong. _And_ he remembered ice cream sandwiches and cleaning out the Cortex. The lack of hesitation when he'd told her to stay lest he have another Speed Force nightmare. The screech of a mic too close to her mouth over the comms. The offer of trust that made her remove her necklace when Wally lay wounded between them. The determined tilt of the chin that told him she was coming with him to another Earth whether he wanted her to or not, because she believed he could build a better life for himself. He _was_ Barry, his own Barry, and he remembered Caitlin's patience, and her hope, and her unconditional love.

Caitlin wanted him.

Savitar ignored his metahuman speed and crossed the distance between the two of them in a few short, average strides. She'd proved she could hear him, all this time, and he meant to show her he could hear her, too.

Not wasting any more time on trying to say it all, he kissed her.

Passersby could pass by all they wanted. The bomb could go off, for all he cared. He was Barry again, and this was Caitlin, and in those few seconds before everything continued, he had to make her understand. The Speed Force left them alone, but it didn't last long anyway. In seconds, it was over.

To Savitar's relief, Caitlin's eyes weren't lost anymore. They were warm and round and full, and best of all, they didn't leave his. There was a spark of surprise in them, certainly, but she didn't seem bothered. In fact, she looked a little off-balance. She opened her mouth to say something, but the screech of tires drowned it out.

"Guys!" Eddie had arrived. The door to his police car, parked near the sidewalk, flew open, and he stepped out, already looking as if he himself had run a marathon. Despite the calm one could associate with the police, he seemed rattled, the ends of his hair darker with sweat. "We gotta get moving!"

Savitar turned, meeting the detective beside the railing. "Where's Rory?" he demanded, glancing at the car. If Thawne had indeed found the pyro, he would be held in the back like any other cuffed criminal. Caitlin was not entering that vehicle until it no longer held someone who could melt it from the inside out, should something go wrong.

Eddie, to his credit, seemed to understand the danger and was already shaking his head. "I dropped him at the station—I mean the hotel. They can hold him." Apologetically, he added, "I couldn't take him to S.T.A.R. Labs; there wasn't enough time."

Savitar turned and took Caitlin by the hand, pulling her up the steps and toward Thawne's car. "You're going with him."

She didn't yank her hand away, but she did stop walking. "Where?"

"Out of the city. S.T.A.R. Labs. Anywhere, doesn't matter. You're not staying here, not till it's safe."

"Wait, I'm—"

"What happened?" Eddie cut in, opening the door for Caitlin. "Did you take care of the bomb?"

Savitar pursed his lips, meeting Caitlin's gaze as she slid into the shotgun seat, looking pale. _I know you can do the right thing._ Could he? After _all_ that had happened to him? It was in there. She could see it.

He could still try to get everyone out. He could go ahead with his original plan. Get his team to safety and take a shot at emptying this half of the city. Belowground, the Rag Doll remained trapped with his own explosive, probably still smiling away. Peter Merkel deserved to die.

But so had Savitar, once upon a time.

He gave Caitlin the smallest nod as Eddie strapped himself in. "I'm working on it."

Caitlin's face remained white and strained for a second longer, and then her expression cleared in understanding. He thought she might smile again, and though he wanted to see it, he shut the car door, straightening and ordering curtly, "Go."

In a blur, he had changed back into his suit. He'd need to contact the Labs from here.

Eddie started up the vehicle again, but Caitlin wasn't finished. The window slid down and she still hadn't pulled her gaze away.

"We'll see you back at S.T.A.R. Labs," she said briskly.

Savitar opened his mouth to protest, but the police car burst into life, making a sharp U-turn—headed north, toward this Earth's version of Team Flash's home base. He could have caught up to it easily, of course, but there were more important things to worry about than winning an argument. If Caitlin wanted to wait for him at S.T.A.R. Labs, however unsafe it was with the bomb still out there, he couldn't change her mind. And neither could Eddie, who obviously wasn't interested in trying. In fact, if _this_ Detective Thawne was anything like the last one, he probably agreed with her.

Time to get going, then.

* * *

When normal people run, especially after having been dormant for a long time, it always feels good. Just a little bit. Even if they didn't exercise regularly, even if it burned and ached during and after those first few strides. Human muscles enjoyed being used, were _supposed_ to be used. It was nearly the same way for those connected to the Speed Force—but this was so much more satisfying. Savitar's entire body craved this kind of movement, day and night, and when he fed it, every inch of him screamed with joy. There was nothing like it, not in the entirety of the multiverse.

"Professor Stein." He switched on the comms.

A testy, rapid, sarcastic response: "Oh, are we relevant again?"

"Change of plans. Caitlin's coming to you."

"But S.T.A.R. Labs is easily included the blast zone," Stein argued. "If you can't deactivate the explosive, you'll be sending her to her death."

"Hey, we dead too," Wally's voice was dry in the background.

"Not anymore. I'm taking the bomb out of the city."

He was searching for the exit he had taken when removing Caitlin from the sewer system. Savitar sped past the correct, already-open manhole cover the first time. After righting himself, he leapt down into the sewer, skipping the ladder altogether. He wouldn't have night vision with his suit still pulled tight into his compressor right, but he shouldn't need it. After all that had just happened in that particular section of the city's underbelly, would remember the way.

"Even if you do remove it from the premises," Stein was saying, with the pace of someone trying to speak as quickly as he thought, "by the time you make it outside our borders, the bomb will still detonate, still cause massive amounts of damage—"

"Can't disarm it. I won't have time," Savitar interrupted.

"Well, there isn't exactly an uncharted _wasteland_ just past the city welcome sign."

"Maybe not, but there's Leawood." Wally again. Now his voice was croaky, as though he could use a glass of water, but apart from that there was no character to it. No emotion. He almost sounded as professional as Eddie. Savitar knew Wally West—and he knew this version, which seemed to be even more insecure than his Earth-1 counterpart, was running over the last hour repeatedly in his mind. But they couldn't afford to have any member of the team hung up on the breach machine sabotage now.

Savitar turned right, trying not to think about how much worse the smell became down here every time one rounded a corner. "Leawood?"

"Of course!" There came the sound of Stein thumping a hand down on something. "Brilliant, Mister West!"

"He gets it there on time, we might have a chance," Wally went on, tone spiraling up just a little, betraying excitement.

"Guys!" Savitar snapped.

Stein was typing; the clicking was loud and agitating in the speedster's ear. "Leawood was once a residential area, some eighty miles outside the city," he explained quickly. "However, it was also home to one of the state's sole nuclear power plants—"

"Back when S.T.A.R. Labs lit up, it reached Leawood and set off some kinda reaction in the plant," Wally interrupted.

"Fifty-nine people died, and the area was evacuated due to dangerous amounts of radiation." Stein's typing ceased. "If you can make it out to Leawood with the explosive and escape before it goes off, it's more than large enough to contain the blast without any casualties."

Savitar had reached the Rag Doll's lair. It was still—which felt wrong, almost. His heart rate and adrenaline said that the Earth should be shaking along with him. Especially when that bomb only a few feet away had a mere eight minutes left to go. But it was dark and cool and silent. He went to the far wall, where the television set still sparked occasionally from his earlier phasing maneuver. The bomb was so small, cylindrical. It was difficult to believe something that looked like a packaged metal Twinkie could cause enough damage to level half the city.

Savitar glanced up at the phone booth. He could just see the top half of the glass case, and the crown of Merkel's head against the wall. So he hadn't escaped. One more thing the speedster wouldn't have to worry about. Whether the Rag Doll was aware he had returned or not remained to be seen; what little Savitar could see of the man didn't move an inch.

"By my calculations, you'll need to go nearly Mach 5 to reach Leawood at _least_ two seconds before the bomb detonates." Stein exhaled a little, making the comms crackle in Savitar's ear. "If you delay by even a minute, the explosion will almost definitely reach some form of civilization. It must be placed precisely in the heart of the area, or someone—some _structure_ —will suffer for it."

"First he's gotta get it out." Wally reminded him. He sounded forcibly calm, like he was doing some kind of breathing exercise. "One thing at a time, man."

Savitar examined the bomb, not reaching for it yet. "It's not strapped in."

"Beg your pardon?" Stein asked.

"It's not hooked up to anything. No wires."

"A pocket explosive. It must be extremely sensitive, then," mused the professor, "to hold that much power, contained in such a compact device. You've got to use the utmost caution."

"Where's it at?" Wally demanded. "The bomb."

"In an old TV. It's what Merkel used to watch us." Savitar leaned closer as he spoke, trying to see the side of the explosive that was somehow attached to the innards of the box.

"Okay, so…" The tone West used said that the solution was obvious. "Just take the whole thing."

There was a rare stretch of silence from Stein. "That works."

Savitar looked around, reaching for the discarded back of the television set. He pressed it over the opening he'd made, holding it there with both thumbs. After tentatively yanking the cord from the back, he lifted the box easily in both arms, glancing up at the phone booth. Merkel was watching him now—the speedster could see his eyes when the booth's light zapped into life. But it was like looking into the eyes of a wax figure. No emotion.

 _FWOOSH!_

He exited the sewer without much trouble this time; he wasn't looking for a specific exit. He just needed to reach the surface with the bomb intact.

When he came out of the first manhole he encountered, he was still downtown. Savitar turned the volume up on his comms as he prepared to run again, tapping the side of his costume's hood once.

"Where am I headed?" he asked.

"Go south." Wally ordered. "There's light traffic, so less people."

"There _is_ a quicker route, should you move east—less twists and turns—"

Savitar shook his head. They were in the home stretch, but Stein couldn't resist working in a lecture. Or at least an extended version of his own opinion. He remembered Stein being just a bit less long-winded on Earth-1. In crisis situations, there hadn't been this much talking coming from the old man in elbow patches.

"—but I believe I have to side with Mr. West this time around; you want human contact at a bare minimum with your kind of cargo."

"Bro." Wally chortled. "Can you not just say _same_ or something?"

For a moment there was a crackling quiet. Then: "The way your generation has butchered the English language is unrivaled throughout the planet's history."

Tuning them out as they bantered, Savitar wanted to close his eyes as he ran. It wasn't something he did often—especially now that his metal armor had been discarded. When he'd had it, he had installed a sort of autopilot, something that would shift him out of the way of oncoming objects while he moved. His counterpart had never acquired the option; Barry could only close his eyes as he ran on Cisco's treadmill. Like their desire to just _move_ , once a speedster had begun to run, the desire to shut one's eyes was just as overwhelming. There was something about going faster than anything around you—like the endlessness of looking up at the spotless blue sky, or being submerged in still, warm water, it was independent and peaceful. There was power to it, and adrenaline, but the other side of the Speed Force was so much less charged. It was an escape. And when he'd still been broken enough to wear that metal armor, an escape was all running had become. Autopilot was essential.

Of course, it wasn't a good idea to escape right at the moment. Not just because autopilot was nonexistent now, but also because he was carrying cylindrical death along with him.

"Take a right," Wally suddenly ordered, and the desire to shut his eyes vanished.

Savitar obeyed. He was in the country now, passing by a few gardens and fields. He hadn't realized he was on a dirt road until he glanced backward, noting the enormous cloud of caramel-colored dust he was kicking up. The air was getting colder as the day wore on, and he could smell raw, wild apples nearby.

"You're thirty miles from your destination," Stein informed him. "If my watch is set properly, you should have about four minutes until detonation."

Thirty miles was nothing. But the television set was getting heavier in his arms—he had super speed, not super strength—and he could feel rare anxiety gathering at the crown of his skull. He had no doubt he would make it to Leawood in time for the bomb to go off. He wasn't so sure _he_ would be able to turn and run quickly enough out of the blast zone.

Especially as he came upon the deserted area.

All the residential buildings were overrun with vegetation that had refused to be stifled by the nuclear blast. Everything was bushy and itchy and overgrown, even in the autumn. The air was thick with the smell of decaying leaves and something icier, something more acidic. Savitar knew his suit would be programmed to filter out any toxins he might be in danger of inhaling—he _did_ have the slightly-upgraded version—but his eyes and nose still stung as he entered Leawood.

There were so many plants, and too many unfamiliar streets.

"Where's the center?" Savitar demanded. He had to stop, looking around, heart rate skyrocketing. He _couldn't_ stop moving. They didn't have seconds to spare. But if he kept running, he might risk moving even farther away from where he ought to be.

"Hold on." Stein's clicking resumed.

He thought he could feel the television set heating up in his arms. He could certainly hear every beep as the bomb ticked closer to its breaking point.

 _Beep._

Suddenly it seemed very important he explain himself to his newfound team. He wasn't sure what drove him to it. There were a thousand things he could have said to them—many of them messages to Caitlin Snow—though what he couldn't ignore was one that seemed least important. It wouldn't make a difference in the end, but he cared. He cared whether they heard it. What they would think of him if he wasn't around to make it up to them. The babbling professor and the overenthusiastic intern.

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

There was an urgency pulsing in his head as he listened to the explosive beep, and he puffed out, "Wally—the breach machine. If I didn't—"

"Shut up, man, you're not dyin'," came the impatient interjection.

Savitar shut up, a slight crooked grin of admiration threatening to twitch its way out.

"There!" Stein shouted. "Run forward a full mile and turn left. Place the bomb beside the only bench in the square, the _left_ side. That's the exact center of the area."

 _BEEP._

BEEP.

"Two minutes," warned Wally. A sliver of nerves shot through his tone. Savitar pictured him with his hands laced behind his head, the way Earth-1's Wally sometimes dealt with stress.

Savitar raced through Leawood. Everything became liquid, as though he were running through a sidewalk chalk painting that had been rained on. The colors on the trees blended together; the details of the buildings disappeared. He would have one minute left to get out of the blast zone by the time he reached the right spot.

The bench was made of iron, and almost completely covered with ivy, so that at first he almost ran past it, mistaking it for a shrub.

As gently as he could, Savitar lay the television set down on the left side of the seat. "Okay," he breathed into the comms.

 _BEEP._

There was a siren kind of noise—a slow build of a screech. Savitar suspected he could only hear it because he was standing so near the device. Fifteen seconds. Time was about to be up.

And he didn't know the fastest route out.

"Do _not_ go back the way you came!" Professor Stein burst out into his ear, giving him his answer. "Go straight on in the direction you are currently facing."

"Don't knock into anything," Wally added. "There's a big hole near the power plant. You move fast enough, you can clear it."

"Keep going until we give you the all-clear," Stein commanded.

Savitar nodded, heartbeat dying away in his skull. The Speed Force danced against his eyelids. He had his orders. Nothing left to do but run.

 _FWOOSH!_

The last beep sounded as he exited the square. Savitar could hear the explosion, but he didn't feel it at his back. He'd cleared the power plant's gap. He'd sped past the fading town sign. He was already two miles out of Leawood. The road was gone—he was running through woodland now, blazing past fir trees and over pine needles and logs. The acrid smell was overtaken by raw wilderness—that tangy, minty smell that came with pine trees, the cold scent of fall, maybe a thunderstorm on the way.

At that moment, there was a bomb ravaging a deserted section of Central City. But Savitar could almost forget it was so close. There was just the speedster himself, moving and moving and moving, faster than the birds overhead or the most souped-up cars miles away. With every beat of each foot against the ground, his nerves faded and a familiar feeling of euphoria—what it must feel like to be a god, apart from everything, _everything_ there was—colored him.

"Stop!" Wally barked.

Savitar slid to a halt immediately, breaking through the trees into a small cornfield. He turned around. The smoke from the bomb was an enormous black cloud easily seen over the trees.

Stein was relaying the results as quickly as he possibly could. "A radius of 2,000 miles. Several buildings collapsed, all of them in Leawood. Zero fatalities. The blast didn't come anywhere near reaching downtown Central City, though I daresay it'll be the top story on the local news channel tonight…"

Savitar exhaled. He wasn't out of breath from his run. But there was a new sense of peace that his flashing about hadn't given him—it was over. The Rag Doll, his bomb, the metahuman band that had terrorized Earth-66 all this time. It could be taken care of so easily now. His first trial as this world's hero—almost completed.

"…and you'll find Mr. Merkel right where you left him," Stein concluded, with barely-disguised smugness.

Savitar grinned. " _That's_ what the comms are for."

* * *

While Savitar was out retrieving their enemy, Caitlin arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs. Eddie had wanted to barrel in with her, but Caitlin had insisted he return to the CCPD's temporary headquarters and be sure Mick Rory was still there. When all this was over, it would be the detective's first priority to begin the process of freeing Joe West.

When all this was over.

But even now that it _was_ —after Savitar had carried the bomb to a safe distance, after Caitlin had called Stein and confirmed everyone was safe—there was still too much going on. Her analytical brain couldn't pin any of it down. She thought she might be having a panic attack. Of course, the symptoms weren't really there. She didn't feel nauseous and she wasn't hyperventilating.

Really, there was nothing _physically_ wrong with her anymore, though Professor Stein was still adamant she join him in the med bay to be sure that was true.

"I'm afraid I'm far from your medical expertise," Stein apologized, shutting down the x-ray he had been using to examine her ankle. "Seems you left your metahuman abilities out of the little history you gave me," he added with raised eyebrows. "How long have you had them?"

"Not long," Caitlin mumbled, almost numbly. "About a year. They didn't really… _show up_ until just recently. I have trouble controlling them."

"You performed well enough today," he praised her. "We all did." When Caitlin didn't respond, eyes on the floor, he came closer. He even pulled up the only chair in the room. "Yet…you seem dissatisfied?"

Caitlin wasn't really looking at the floor. She wasn't seeing it. Instead she saw Infantino Street, and not the one that had haunted her nightmares seven months ago. Savitar hadn't known, all this time, how she saw him. He'd thought— _all this time_ —that what she wanted was Barry Allen. That she'd wanted him to go back to being a carbon copy of the man on Earth-1, with his awkward interruptions and his shining smile and his sweater vests.

That was Barry, but it _wasn't_ Savitar. How could he have thought she was so discontent? She must not have done a good job showing evidence to the contrary. Showing that she was proud of his progress and she admired his own independent qualities—the autumn copper smell, his affinity for black that was apparently _not_ exclusively linked to his dark past, he just liked that color. The smirks in the place of that shining smile, the refreshing bluntness he used when talking to her. Of course she wanted him the way he was. The fact that he might not have known that all along made other actions a little easier to dissect.

The _breach machine_. It had been his doing. He'd kept it from her and kept her from home. Caitlin had been hurt enough times in life to have mastered the art of protecting one's heart. She didn't trust easily, despite helping easily. It had taken her this long to call Savitar a friend—and that was even _with_ a face she knew! But in the background, all the while, he'd been doing this. He'd been working on trapping her here. She couldn't wrap her head around it. What had she done that had warranted such a stab in the back? He'd _always_ known she had to leave. He knew how much she needed her family on Earth-1. How she belonged there. But he'd taken everything that had been built between them and thrown a chain around it. She hadn't done a very good job of protecting her heart, it seemed.

 _And_ he'd kissed her. There was that too. She felt dizzy just thinking of it; it was almost like she forgot it had happened every few seconds—but the meaning behind the action, not the action itself, kept leaping up from in between everything else clogging her brain. That, more than anything, was what kept her numb and rooted to the spot in the med bay.

Stein cleared his throat. "Doctor Snow?"

Caitlin looked up, eyes wide. "Hmm?"

"I don't claim to know much about the female mind," Stein reiterated, "but shouldn't you be celebrating your success?"

All at once, she unloaded. She told him everything. Every little thing she could think of that was nagging at her about the days' events. Infantino Street, the breach machine, Merkel's kidnapping her, Savitar's decision to spare the Rag Doll, the kiss, how she couldn't decide whether she hated him or cared more than ever now. Cared in a baffled, almost painful way she was afraid to define. Cared about _Savitar_! How she could have gone home the first time Wally fired up the portal if it hadn't been for the man she'd called her teammate here. How Savitar must have been so hurt, so fractured, thinking for this long that she preferred some other version of him. That she was constantly disappointed in him, when the opposite was true. How she'd decided ripping off her necklace to be certain Savitar wouldn't have to worry about her was more important than losing control. All of it.

The way Stein listened reminded her distinctly of Dr. Wells—before she'd discovered he was an imposter, a murderer, evil down to the roots of his teeth. The professor sat placidly, silent, waiting until she was quiet again. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, and his eyes never left her face or drooped in the slightest.

"I just…" Caitlin rolled her eyes as she finished, looking at the ceiling. Her fingers fought with each other over one knee; she was too wound up. "I don't understand _any_ of what he's done. I don't know…how to—" She gestured feebly with both palms. "—what to _do_ with him now."

Stein nodded, slowly. His posture was calm for someone who had just helped avert a city-wide catastrophe.

Caitlin paused, pursing her lips. She glanced at him sheepishly. "Sorry. I know that was a lot to process."

Professor Stein took a breath before he spoke, removing his spectacles to polish them with a handkerchief in his coat pocket. Caitlin felt a rush of affection, watching him. "You forget, Doctor Snow, that I too was young once. I admit I've never _quite_ had your same experiences, but I can relate to at least _one_ of the troubling things you've mentioned." He put the spectacles back on. "I've been through love's ups and downs myself."

Caitlin shook her head hard, almost chuckling. Her arms went gingerly to fold around her middle. "I'm not so sure that's what this is."

 _Love's_ ups and downs. As if she could call it that. As if that Barry Allen running through the city just now, the one that had closed off the only chance she'd had of going home, could be one half of that equation. She couldn't make it work, couldn't picture it. Even if she'd seen something impossibly soft and deep when he'd looked at her just an hour ago on Infantino Street. Even if she didn't know what else to call that something. She wouldn't give it _that_ name, not now. Not now that she could breathe again. Think again.

Stein's mouth shrugged for him. "Perhaps not. But, and feel free to correct me if I overstep…"

He stood, turning as he spoke to put away some of the supplies he'd taken out to inspect her—a stethoscope, a bag of ice, little things.

"If all you've told me about Savitar is true—that he is a physical manifestation of—of—a potential outcome, of this— _Barry Allen_ …." Stein glanced back at her as she sat rigid on the gurney. "The man you are used to, the original, had the potential to become a villain, isn't that right?"

Caitlin nodded, licking her lips. Picturing the big metal armor and the torn half of Barry's face and that wicked grin he used to wear. Everything familiar and really wrong.

"And Savitar proved that theory once. Now, thanks to you, Miss Snow, he's reversed it. And here he is, simply proving something else." Stein faced her fully now, actually smiling.

She waited, tilting her head. That smile was a bit unsettling, considering Stein didn't smile often. She could feel her eyebrows drawing tightly together. Whatever he was getting at, something in her was unfolding. Something a little nervous. Like maybe she could realize just a taste of what was coming next, if she let herself mull it over.

"That Barry Allen has always had the _potential_ to love one Caitlin Snow."

Caitlin looked away, looked at the floor again. Whatever had been unfolding was now completely open. Perhaps she hadn't been expecting that theory after all. In fact, she was finding it difficult to think again. To pin anything down. But she knew Stein was right—there were a lot of _potential_ outcomes in the many relationships two people could have. The multiverse itself was living proof of that. With one action, with a word, things could end up differently. If the right components were already in place. The Barry Allen she knew best, the one wearing scarlet and waiting at home, was very close to her indeed, and they understood one another on a different level than they had anyone else. In truth, though, he had loved and needed Iris West.

But _this_ Barry had needed someone else. And it made something gold and light flutter hopefully inside her to think it had been Caitlin herself.

Stein was watching her, looking sort of amused. "Am I wrong?" His tone told her he highly doubted it and was not used to such an outcome. He probably wasn't even used to asking the question.

Caitlin knew she was shaking her head, but she hardly felt it. "I…" She looked up at him, suddenly feeling very young and afraid. "What if _I_ don't? What if I don't have that potential?"

He met her gaze with wisdom that didn't come from age. It was a relatability she saw there. Stein knew he was looking at someone who had already lost in love, at least in the romantic kind. That she was terrified that this, too, just wouldn't happen. It wouldn't fit. Ronnie was gone. Jay had lied. Why should this be any different? What if she screwed it all up? What if everything changed, like the Singularity, or Zoom? She couldn't lose someone _again_. If she didn't have to, she wouldn't. She wouldn't set it all in motion. Not if she wasn't sure. Not if she couldn't tell that it worked.

"Well—" Stein sat back down, eyebrows bouncing. "I suppose there is a risk, as with anything else. There is evidence of his feelings—it would explain his involvement with your multidimensional portal, just a—a primal desire for you to remain with him. And it explains his decision to spare our Mr. Merkel— _your_ influence." He thought for a moment. "Caitlin—" her informal name sounded strange coming out of him "—if there's one thing my marriage to Clarissa has taught me over the years, it is the true definition of love."

She swung her legs over the side of the gurney, leaning forward a bit.

"Selflessness." Stein's smile remained. "Caring more for the other person's needs than for your own. Making them more important to you than you are." He spread his palms. "From what I've seen and heard between the two of you since we met, it's abundantly clear you care for Savitar in this way." When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up one of those palms to dissuade her. "Perhaps not from the beginning—but everything you do _does_ seem to be in his best interest."

Caitlin wanted to tell him he was wrong. Guilt poked and prodded as she remembered how sharp she could be with the speedster, how often she reminded him of his past sins, how little faith she'd had in him in those early days. How controlling and agitated she could become. She wanted to say she'd done it all because it was the right thing to do. Not because she loved Savitar.

But the more she considered it, the more she saw that wasn't true. When they'd first arrived on Earth-66, yes, she'd done everything to help Savitar because it had been her job. It had been the safest route, for him and for the multiverse. Reforming him was her duty. But as time had gone on, hadn't she done things for him because she cared? No one had _told_ her to bring him breakfast, he could run out and get it himself. He didn't _need_ someone to talk to, but she'd spent hours doing just that. Enjoying it. Every cup of coffee, every shared look, every stolen Jell-O carton, every heart-to-heart, and the hugs, and the nights spent awake, making sure he slept without being disturbed by Speed Force nightmares. Caitlin had spent seven months devoting almost every spare action toward Savitar. Not making him good again—just caring for him. About him. Because she wanted to.

Because, yes, she did love him. In spite of what he'd done, past or present. It was more than the adorable smirks or the black jacket she was becoming fond of or the sarcastic banter that brightened the hour. Those were little things, icing on the cake. He was Barry Allen, after all—a different Barry Allen. And Caitlin had gone and 'fallen in love' with him, though the phrase hardly seemed adequate.

Caitlin glanced at Stein with eyes that were not quite wet, and still afraid. "Oh no."

Stein chuckled. He may have been about to say something, but he never got the chance. With the usual rush of air, Savitar was in the room.

The speedster wasn't in his superhero outfit anymore; wearing the civilian clothes he'd donned on Infantino Street. Caitlin felt her heart rate increase and wondered how she'd missed it happening before. She could even hear it pounding in her ears.

Stein seemed to just dematerialize, he left the med bay so skillfully. Caitlin almost wanted to call him back.

Savitar was watching her, and she saw with a twinge of satisfaction that he seemed apprehensive. She looked at him, feeling all the horror and pain that had spiked through her when Merkel had revealed his part in the breach machine's issues. _How_ could he justify trapping her here? He'd changed so drastically. Keeping her from going home was something the God of Speed would have done. Not Savitar.

She felt words boiling on her tongue. The sharpness that came so easily, the cold under her fingernails. But Savitar began to actually approach her, and her heartbeat wouldn't slow down. She nearly forgot anything she'd thought to say. His fists bounce a little at his sides as he walked, jaw working. Barry looked good with one blue eye, oddly enough. The closer he got, the more Infantino Street seemed to form around them. Her mouth felt dry. That face—the older, darker version of it, was so familiar to her after these months. In a different way than Barry's was. A way that made that gold feeling swarm up again.

But she wouldn't let her emotions, this awakened affection, shove the very serious hurt out for the moment. She wasn't _that_ young. Caitlin tried to control her tone. "Savitar—"

He stopped her by holding out a closed fist and taking one of her hands, dropping something heavy and small into it.

Caitlin peered at it, standing up off of the cot. The object was circular and metal, almost like a clock, with a gauge on its face and no letters or numbers. Just two colors—white, or midnight blue. The tiny red hand inside was dormant in the far-left corner of the gauge, lying still in the white section. There was a little dial on the side of the machine, like the pointed end of a battery.

"What is this?" she mumbled.

Savitar's countenance was neutral, apart from a slight shaking. "This," he said, voice low, "is what I used to block the breach."

As Caitlin glanced at the pocket device in her hand, she suddenly pictured the worktable in Savitar's room. She'd noticed the table only once, covered in pieces of scrap metal and a few tools from the engineering wing. All this time she'd dismissed it as mere tinkering—something Savitar could still do. He'd made his own suit of armor, hadn't he? But it hadn't been harmless tinkering. He'd used his talents to send a glitch through Wally's hard work.

"It's off." Savitar's voice faltered for a moment. Then it was strong again, and brisk as ever. "The machine'll work fine now."

Caitlin's mouth became even drier. _I can go back_. But the thought was short, and fleeting. She felt she could only focus on right this minute, on Savitar, who stood there with his arms lifeless at his sides, feet shuffling in their place.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded. Surprisingly, it wasn't sharp. It wasn't even hard. She just sounded quiet.

Savitar was close now, just half a foot from her. But he seemed more unbalanced by it than she was. "Because—" He started, but he paused, swallowing, and then he looked down and held off for what appeared such a long time, Caitlin wondered if he'd ever finish. When he did, it was a bit louder, but not firm at all. "Because I need you."

 _I need you._

She'd been needed plenty of times, by several people. Why, then, did this feel so different? So much better?

Caitlin leaned down a little, trying to catch his eye. When he did straighten and look down at her again, there was such a longing and a loneliness there, she wished he'd gone on staring at his shoes.

"I started working on this," he tapped it hard in her hand with a finger, loosely, and let his arm drop back down again, "the night after you went back. When you left to get the transmogrifier." He shook his head. "I don't want you to leave. I didn't want you to leave then, I don't—" Savitar sniffed, just once, and Caitlin realized how vulnerable he really was at the moment. He had never, not in the entire time she'd known him, looked simultaneously more _and_ less like his Earth-1 doppelganger. "I don't want you to leave now."

She should have been furious over that stupid machine. But instead she was heartbroken. She knew exactly what that lonely feeling was. He had the same yawning hole inside she'd had. They had both lost everything once upon a time, and the way he was watching her, with a very real fear—how could she be angry with him for doing everything he could to keep the hole from getting any wider?

Caitlin dropped the device onto the cot and wrapped her arms around him. Savitar didn't hesitate to return the embrace, holding her tight. She could feel his breathing slow, like he was falling asleep. For a moment, she felt so content there, she wondered why her face was wet.

"This is your fault," he said in normal tones now.

She released a half-hearted laugh and almost let go, but he didn't allow it, tightening his grip. "How?"

"You made me need you." Savitar finally pulled away, arms swinging absently again. His fingers twitched, she noticed. They were close enough that she felt them against her own, like he wanted to take her hand again, but he resisted, repeating, "I need you, Cait."

Caitlin felt that elevated heartbeat drop. _Cait_. She loved that nickname. Only two people had ever called her Cait. She wouldn't tolerate it from anyone else. The med bay got warmer when she heard it.

He reached around her, doing it slowly, and Caitlin smelled that autumn and copper mixture as he moved back with the circular machine in his hand. "But I'm not gonna keep you here." With both hands, he snapped the little device in half. There wasn't even a spark.

Caitlin watched the pieces as they clattered to the ground with a sound like a pencil hitting the floor. Stein's words floated back to her. _Love is self-sacrifice._ Savitar was letting her go. She belonged on Earth-1—and he wouldn't withhold it from her, however much he did, in fact, love her.

She locked eyes with him. Barry's eyes and mouth and hair and voice, but _Savitar_ 's Barry. She decided there were very few faces she liked better, hidden scars and all.

Savitar was speaking again, voice back to its usual rasp. He spoke quickly, as if trying to get it all over with, but Caitlin scarcely heard him, mind fixed on the broken device sitting on the floor. What it meant. "I talked to Wally." He shrugged. "We're not exactly _bros_ or anything, but he's letting me off the hook. He said he can have the machine up—"

Caitlin stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Savitar effectively forgot the breach machine.

That soft expression was in his eyes again when she moved away. He went on gazing at her as Caitlin picked up the pieces of his breach-killer, giving him a smile that sang of sadness, though she pushed as much sincerity into it as she could. "Thank you," she said, "for letting me go."

Savitar nodded once, exhaling slowly. "You're coming back." It wasn't a command or a question. He said it as if he were saying the walls were white. Fact.

"Of course." Caitlin cleared her throat, surprised at the lump forming there.

Savitar's eyes barely flickered away from her when she held up the broken device. _Self-sacrifice_. And it had only taken him seven months.

"You know," she said teasingly, trying to force the lump away, "You learn a lot faster than Barry does."

* * *

 **(Author's Note: Oh, the drama.**

 **Well, this is it, my friends. Your reviews have helped me get better and make me want to keep going! And if you've just finished this fic for the first time, drop a review no matter how long it's been! I read all of them, however late. I may do a few little sequels to this, stay tuned! Love you, Jell-O Squares. Thanks so much for reading this monster thing! Don't be strangers. ~Doverstar)**


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